


Skyforged

by Mari89



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Family, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:27:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 26,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mari89/pseuds/Mari89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots depicting off camera moments between Vilkas and F! Dragonborn. Tags will be added as needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fears

**Author's Note:**

> My first shot at a fic on this site, but I'm so very glad to give it a go! Reviews are appreciated, flames... not so much. I'll try to post any relevant warnings/summaries in the notes before each chapter. So far it's just fluff. ;)
> 
> For the record, I did not make up the name Rheissa. It's on loan from Jaden Anderson. If you're into Dragon Age fics I suggest you check out her stuff on ff.net. She's amazing!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first shot at a fic on this site, but I'm so very glad to give it a go! Reviews are appreciated, flames... not so much. I'll try to post any relevant warnings/summaries in the notes before each chapter. So far it's just fluff. ;)
> 
> For the record, I did not make up the name Rheissa. It's on loan from Jaden Anderson. If you're into Dragon Age fics I suggest you check out her stuff on ff.net. She's amazing!
> 
> 11/29/15 UPDATE!!  
> I have a few new chapters in the works and am doing small re-writes on existing chapters.

Vilkas watched the new blood walking in front of him with a sadistic sort of amusement. He had traveled once or twice with the archer and she had shown promising skill; enough so that Vilkas was secure in the knowledge that any stray arrows glancing off his armor were a result of their growing enmity as opposed to a lack of practice. Indeed, he had watched her train in the yard with Aela many an afternoon, the sun high above them as the sweat trickled delicately down her lithe figure. On those days it was easy enough to imagine luring her to the Under Forge where the cool air would dance across her flesh while-

No. Not the time. 

His inner wolf growled at the disruption of what would have surely been another inspired daydream involving the woman to which he’d found himself so frustratingly attracted. The cause of his fixation remained a mystery when one considered the way they both seemed to delight in provoking each other. Farkas’ claim that the pair were too similar for there to be any other sort of bond seemed as ludicrous as it was likely; the two warriors tended to be forceful, obstinate, and above all: proud. The woman was so damned proud. It never ceased to amaze how haughty she could seem with a simple chortle or smirk. 

But there was something about the barrow that chased away the poised fighter he had come to know and replaced her with an uneasy novice. All manner of echoes rang throughout the tomb and yet each new sound caused his paranoid companion to draw back on her bow.

“Everything alright?” Even his words startled her. A tiny yet distinct flinch shimmied across her shoulders before she turned to glare at him.

“Fine,” she ground out. “Why?”

Vilkas shrugged casually, fighting the urge to smirk. “You seem tense. Does the dark frighten you New Blood?”

“Of course not!” Rheissa’s scowl deepened as she increased her pace, moving through the corridors in irritated silence. There was the fierce woman he knew; that his taunt seemed to infuriate her so quickly only reinforced his belief that something was indeed amiss. The pair continued through the barrow swathed in irritated quiet, Rheissa looking for the source of every sound while Vilkas wondered idly what it was that triggered the new and almost comical change in his companion. It did not take long before the distant shambling and snarling of draugr could be heard.

Following the accustomed technique when traveling with his bow favoring shield-sisters, Vilkas quickly pulled the great sword from his back and charged their undead foes. The first of their quarry were felled effortlessly, but the large warrior soon found himself beset by a small horde. Backing into a small alcove, it was all that could be done to keep the creatures from encircling him. While awash in a sea of draugr Vilkas quickly lost sight of his companion; it was only the continuous volley of arrows that whirled past his head and shoulders reassuring him that she still stood. 

As his blade sank into the final drauger one such arrow hastily glanced off his armor. “Hey! Watch it sister!” But any aggravation he felt at her mischief abruptly vanished as his incensed gaze caught hers. Wide eyed and pale, the shaken woman took one slow quivering breath before her eyes slipped closed. A trembling hand found its perch on her chest as she attempted to still her racing heart. 

“Rheissa?” When she did not reply Vilkas crossed the distance between them, eyes scanning for any hurts or reason for her distress. “Are you hurt?”

Her head shook quickly. After a moment of slowly drinking in the stagnant air around them her posture straitened and some color returned to her cheeks. “I’m fine. Let’s keep moving.”

“Wait, what was that?”

Rhei huffed in what Vilkas could only assume was vexation, then turned to glare spitefully at the corpses littering the narrow doorway. “I hate draugr. They scare me.”

For a moment he was sure he must have misunderstood her. Silence echoed gracelessly between them as the idea took hold that these rather feeble and pathetic creatures could frighten anyone apart from disobedient children. “They… scare you?” The slow nod prompted a sharp bark of laughter from the large man.

Immediately fire returned to Rheissa’s eyes as she mistook his incredulity for ridicule. Glaring, she shoved past him and began rifling through the corpses at their feet. “Forgive me,” she spat, every word steeped with vitriol. “I forget that the great Vilkas fears nothing!”

“Rheis-”

“No! Keep your thoughts to yourself. I refuse to be ridiculed by-”

“Rheissa, stop!” His command echoed off the crypts and he was relieved that, for once, she obeyed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mock you. I was just… surprised.”

Her glare narrowed. “Surprised?”

“Yes. I…” He mentally cursed the new and altogether foreign feeling of speechlessness. “I did not expect it. The Dragonborn? Afraid of undead?” She offerend nothing, just continued to scowl at him. “I guess it’s easy to forget that you’re just as…human…as the rest of us.” His inner wolf snickered, but Vilkas quickly stifled the sentiment as he watched Rheissa’s expression soften. For a moment she looked as lost and uneasy as he, hands fidgeting anxiously with the amulet around her neck. 

“Well…” A soft grin touched her lips and Vilkas reveled in the fact that it was the first genuine smile she’d ever given him. “Not entirely human.” Both warriors chuckled as tension slowly bled from the room. In that moment a new and tenuous peace was brokered between them. “Come on,” she gestured down the hall. “We still have a bloody heirloom to find.”

As they set off once more into the dark and uninviting crypt Vilkas offered her a sincere smile of his own. “You know, if it makes you feel better… Farkas is terrified of spiders.”


	2. Smile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more pretty blatant fluff. Minor rewrites applied 11/29/15.

The mead hall of the Companions was alive. Merriment rang from every strut and rafter as rousing tales made their way from mouth to ear. Nearly every seat around Jorrvaskr’s feast table was full; even their most dour members chose to take part. Njada’s cheeks were flush with spirits while Kodlak had emerged from his solitude and spoke animatedly with Vignar. At the head of the table stood Torvar and Athis who had only just finished regaling their comrades with an account from their most recent foray in the west; an astounding tale detailing a valiant battle with a hundred foresworn while a dragon soared overhead. And although every listener knew that their many tankards of mead had swelled the enemy’s numbers and that the dragon itself had undoubtedly cut a swathe through the large encampment, the hall still extolled the tale and toasted their glory.

In the midst of such jovial company Rheissa could not help but to bask in the warm glow of happiness she had discovered with her new clan. Such belonging was a notion she had never known, nor could ever have hoped for. And to have found a family that made no secret of their fierce loyalty and fellowship…The ceremony behind Jorrvaskr had moved her more deeply than she would ever voice, even in the face of the encounter that preceded it. But knowing the true nature of the Circle did little to dissuade her, for every single member had proven their commitment to their fellows a thousand fold; even Vilkas, whom she was still hesitant to call “brother.” The man was just so insufferable! Getting any new idea through his thick haze of arrogance took more patience than she herself was blessed with, though they managed their rivalry well enough. What had once been outward hostility had since been stemmed to passive aggressive quips and the occasional eye roll.

But there were times, when he thought she was not aware, that she would find him watching. And it would seem as if for those few brief moments that he really saw her. As if he saw beyond the power she wielded and the destiny stretched out before her to the woman beneath. As if he had finally solved a puzzle that was missing large pieces. Were it anyone else, she would simply assume that he desired her.  
Rheissa couldn’t help the scowl that crossed her face so she chose to hide it behind a mug of mead lest Skjor or Aela notice. What lunacy! As if she could ever feel anything but spite for that stubborn mutt! He was attractive enough surely, but-

The front doors to Jorrvaskr crashed open, interrupting her musings and causing every head in the hall to turn. Silence stole over the room as the very source of her vexation thundered his way toward the living quarters, heaving both his weapons and traveling pack to the floor in fury. Farkas followed behind slowly looking haggard, dried blood still clinging to his armor. The gentler twin said nothing as he dropped heavily into the seat next to Aela.

Rheissa’s eyes followed Vilkas’ fiery path. “What happened?”

“Necromancers,” was the only response the large man offered as he downed a mug of mead in a few swallows and stared vacantly into the fire. For several tense moments neither Aela nor Rheissa spoke despite commotion in the hall gradually returning to its former intensity. Finally Farkas ground out a heavy sigh and stood, wandering toward the lower hall to find his brother, Kodlak only a few strides behind.

Rhei turned her confused gaze toward her shield-sister. “Necromancers?”

The slim huntress’ lips narrowed. “It’s not my story to tell. Suffice to say our brothers don’t take kindly to magic.”

“Really?”

“You sound surprised.”

Shifting her shoulders, Rheissa suddenly felt awkward under the keen gaze of the huntress. “I’ve never seen Vilkas so angry.”

“You’ve not heard how they came to us, have you?”

“No.”

“Trust me sister. Vilkas carries his troubles more closely than he would ever have anyone believe.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the sound of the training yard’s doors closing heavily that brought Rhiessa out of her sound sleep. Looking up she could see that it was not yet dawn, nor was it late enough for Tilma to have begun her morning routine. Sitting up from her bedroll she blinked blearily at the door only to find the yard’s newest occupant just as surprised as she. Vilkas stared at her in shock for a moment before his brow furrowed.

“Why are you sleeping on the porch?” 

The question was a reasonable one yet Rheissa felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment in the face of his judgment. Vilkas’ steady gaze sent a tremor through her gut that left her feeling as if she were a stammering timid child. Quickly she stifled the sensation and raised her chin defiantly. “I don’t care for the living quarters.”

“Too good to sleep beside your new brothers and sisters?”

A fire fanned by indignance and what she didn’t want to admit was hurt flared up in the depths of her chest. “It’s too crowded,” she snapped, making no effort to hide the venom of her tone. “The air reeks of sweat and bodies.” Rheissa fought to control the flame within that would quickly become an inferno if she let it. 

_Dark stone walls, bodies tight in the dark space waiting for an end that would surely come. Her older sister shielding her from hungry eyes. Thalmor and their barking questions at a throng of people with no answers. Her sister’s shouts as they dragged her away. “Get out Rhei! I know you can!” ___

__Rheissa clenched her eyes shut angrily, forcing the memory away. It would serve her little now. Turning back to where Vilkas stood she was irritated to find him studying her with the same inquisitive look as she had so many other times, as if he could see her distress. But as she readied herself for another scathing remark or dismissal, wondering idly if Hulda would rent her a room so late in the night, she was surprised by the small huff that escaped him. His shoulders rounded, the fight visibly falling away, as Vilkas claimed a chair at one of the small tables. “Join me sister.”_ _

__For a moment she couldn’t move, shock having rooted her to the safety of her bedroll. But it was her turn to study as she noted the heaviness in Vilkas’ limbs. A bottle of mead appeared from his side and was emptied into two separate glasses. Not particularly craving the drink, but not willing to refuse what appeared to be a peace offering, Rheissa rose slowly from her nest and took the offered seat. The two Nords drank in grim silence, Vilkas draining his glass in half the time it took his companion. When the cup sat empty his gaze wandered, surveying the training yard for something Rhei could not fathom._ _

__“So…” she dared, the silence becoming too heavy to bear any longer. “Can’t sleep?”_ _

__“Why else would I be out here at this time of night?”_ _

__“Howling at the moon?” The taunt slipped from her lips unbidden, a response born from countless duels of the tongue. “I’m sorry,” she offered quickly. “That was… unwarranted.”_ _

__Again Vilkas surprised her with a wry chuckle. “But not unexpected. Your mouth is quicker than your brain.”_ _

__“That is what Aela tells me.”_ _

__“And what else has she told you?” The abrupt change in his expression and hard set behind his eyes told Rheissa that the brief moment of levity was gone. How he knew what words had passed between her and the huntress she did not know, but there was no sense in feigning ignorance._ _

__“Nothing really. She only said that you and Farkas dislike magic.”_ _

__“She didn’t tell you why?” When her reply was a shake of the head Vilkas smiled and, for an instant, Rheissa’s mind was not her own. For as many small grins and smirks as she had seen him give, never once had something so genuine graced Vilkas’ features. In that moment his face held an affection and tenderness she had never thought to see. “That was good of her,” he spoke softly. “Aela can be vexing but she respects her family.”_ _

__The silence that seemed crushing in its weight before now hung on them lightly. Peaceful warmth still glowed gently in Vilkas’ gaze while his Rheissa could only watch in a state of coveted captivation. She wanted to push, wanted to see what measures might be needed to fan those delicate embers into a flame so grand that the darkness obscuring him would be chased away, never to return. But her reverie was short lived as the detestable shadows crept back into the man’s gaze and caused her own heart to sour. Eventually her shield-brother sat back in his chair and freed a heavy sigh, relaying what she already knew._ _

__“Do you wish to discuss it?” she asked quietly, startling herself at her own nerve._ _

__It seemed she was not the only one surprised as a ghost of the warmth returned in the appearance of a melancholy smile. “Thank you, but that’s alright. Perhaps another night. I promise I’ll tell you.” He stood from their small table, some of the heaviness gone from his movements, and quietly slipped back inside the hall._ _

__Rheissa did not return to her bedroll, nor did she seek the warmth of Jorrvaskr, instead considering the long empty tankards resting before her as a strange truth began to take hold: was it possible that the man she’d come to know was not the man, but rather the wolf? That it was the wolf training in the yard each day. Relentless, unyielding, impatient… Certainly such unfailing fortitude was what the Companions needed as Kodlak withdrew further into his studies. But to have it utterly eclipse the man she had only just seen… Such a tragedy could not persist._ _

__As bird songs heralded the sun’s climb Rheissa felt conviction sweep through her. She swore that one day she would see Vilkas as he truly was and that when she did he would walk with her into the light._ _


	3. Grief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for the Companions questline abound in this chapter!
> 
> Aaaaaaand here comes the angst. For some reason I can't seem to help myself.
> 
> Minor rewrites added 11/29/15.

Kodlak is dead.

The thought circled her mind like a pack of wolves. So unlike her own broken pack.

Kodlak is dead.

Arriving back at Whiterun in victory, only to have devastating anguish forced in her sights.

Kodlak is dead.

Casting a slanted glance at her shield-brother did nothing to ease the fear tearing its way through her. Vilkas was gone. His body yet moved, stiffly thrusting potions and food into a satchel, but his eyes remained fixed and unseeing. Every rigid muscle spoke of the energy coursing within, like watching a storm ready to break upon the coast. Rheissa’s own instincts screamed for her to run and leave the grieving man to whatever madness had taken him. But remembering the man beneath, the man who made her stomach lurch with his attentive gaze… No. She wouldn’t abandon him now. 

“Vilkas?” she tried, his name leaving her throat as a low murmur. When the living puppet beside her carried on without pause she dared again. “Vilkas?”

“What??” The snarled response was as much a relief as it caused her to flinch.

“What are you going to do?”

Hands stopped moving, lifeless eyes twisting into bottomless wells of rage and the promise of blood. A deadly gaze locked on her own and there was no sign of the man she had come to know. Only the wolf remained. The words that fell from his lips, while unsettling, were nothing next to the darkness that enveloped them: “I’m going to make them pay.” 

Vilkas turned and stormed toward the doors, Rheissa following. Neither made another effort to speak as their feet carried them away from cheering comrades, through the market, beyond the guards’ condolences, and out the main gate. Once free of the city walls Rheissa was surprised when Vilkas turned and immediately headed north. “We’ll go faster if we take the carriage to Dawnstar,” she proclaimed from behind him. “I’m sur-”

“No! We go ourselves.”

“It will take days to reach the fort on foot.”

“Not for us.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Driftshade would haunt her until her dying breath. The memories themselves were a medley of screams and blood and pleas for mercy; pleas that went utterly unanswered. Her inner wolf lay slumbering, satisfied in every sense. Until Vilkas’ unrelenting crusade for vengeance Rheissa had never spent any prolonged amount of time in her bestial form. Hunting game and the occasional bandit with Aela had not come at all close to preparing her for the amount of devastation done avenging their fallen Harbinger. At some point on their carnage filled journey a sort of detachment had settled around her; a grey fog of numbness protecting some precious corner of her mind that could not live with the horrors they’d committed. When they’d reverted to their human forms still bathed in the blood of the slain she felt nothing. The journey home, a trek that should have been rife with questions and vindication, was instead spent in silence. When they’d finally passed through Whiterun’s gate and Vilkas had quietly suggested that they make for the Skyforge she had agreed without protest. 

But as she stood amongst the citizens of Whiterun watching Kodlak burn the flames seemed to eat away at the cold, leaving a cavernous void of grief in its wake. She had felt loss: Mama and Papa left in a shallow grave in Cyrodiil, her sister left in a mass grave beside a Thalmor stronghold. She had been alone for so long… But looking toward the mourners gathered around the pyre it was clear that she was not alone, a notion that tasted bittersweet at the back of her throat. Her adopted family’s grief took many forms. Torvar’s directionless anger, Vignar’s dignified endurance …even Eorland’s gaze seemed glossy in the light of the forge. But when she sought out Vilkas… oh Divines, never had she seen such torment. The firelight danced across his anguished countenance, serving only to deepen the lines already drawn there. Rheissa wondered what manner of storm raged behind his pale eyes. What remained once vengeance had been wrought?

As the sparks dwindled and the mourners dispersed Rhei’s eyes followed Vilkas as he moved silently to the Underforge. She moved to follow, pausing only long enough to give Aela a look that pleaded for a moment of discretion. The huntress seemed to understand and led Farkas away from their sanctuary, leaving Rheissa alone with their shield-brother.

She found Vilkas curved over the vessel at the heart of the stone room, shoulders bowed in grief. Before she could speak his voice echoed through the cavern, “I suppose you want an apology.” The heat behind his words startled her. The man whipped around, eyes ablaze. “Well you won’t get one. We did what needed to be done.”

“I know.” Her reply seemed to unsettle him as she crossed the distance between them in a few short strides. He flinched. And being only inches apart Rheissa could now see how truly broken the loss of Kodlak had made him. With every deep breath and forced scowl Vilkas frantically labored to restore the dilapidated walls shielding his heart. The wolf that had so faithfully guarded those walls had been banished by sorrow leaving only the grief shattered man before her. 

Moving slowly, as if he were a wounded pup who might bite her or flee, Rheissa grasped both of his hands in her own. A surprised breath escaped his lungs before silver eyes raised, confusion burning within. “What do you want from me?” he whispered, his voice doing nothing to hide the turmoil raging within. 

“Nothing. I want nothing from you.” Gently she brought a hand up and rested it on his cheek. His eyes fell closed at her touch as her heart leapt into her throat. “You are not alone Vilkas.” One tear escaped his tightly clenched lids. “Let me help you.” 

Her own heart broke as the poorly mended fortification dissolved. She pulled him close, Vilkas’ face crumpling into an angry snarl concealed by tears. The two proud warriors clung together, their misery unconfined, finding respite in one another. Regret laden with rage cascaded from the man and Rheissa could not help but think that perhaps he had never allowed another person to see his heart so completely. So she simply held him tighter as her own tears fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As close as Vilkas and Kodlak seemed I thought there would be more.... emotional fireworks.
> 
> Happier times on the way (I hope).


	4. Jealousy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the comments and kudos! It's always a treat to log in and see them!
> 
> No real warnings for this one, just more fluff and a little brooding on Vilkas' part. But what else is new, right? ;)
> 
> Minor rewrites applied 11/29/15.

“Rheissa!” Vilkas turned from his place at The Bee and Barb’s counter to see a man, clearly a mage, rapidly approaching from the far end of the common area. Brushing past several other patrons the stranger caught Rheissa in a fierce hug. “I knew you couldn’t stay away,” he declared, his face breaking into a self-assured smirk. “Admit it, you were lost without me!”

The Harbinger laughed merrily and pulled back from the unusually long embrace, a veneer of genuine affection gracing her features. “Oh, hopelessly. However did I live this long without you at my side?”   
Vilkas hated this man.

“By finding a new escort it seems.”

New escort? Rheissa was the Dovahkiin, the Harbinger of the Companions, not some helpless tavern harlot. What sort of pompous arrogant-

“This is Vilkas, my shield-brother. Vilkas, this is Marcurio. I usually ask for his help when I venture this far south.”

It was a pleasant introduction, though Vilkas could hear little beyond the fragmented sensation sweeping through him at his presentation. She had introduced him as simply shield-brother… Truly, was that all they were? In the months since Kodlak’s death Rheissa had been different; they had both been different. The coarse friendship they’d maintained for the sake of their shield siblings had shifted into something newer, gentler. Sarcastic gibes had given way to gentle touches and smiles. Training together had once been a grueling progression of angry outbursts and reproach; they had since become a cohesive entity in battle, often countering the other’s movements without being aware. Any work offered that may have proven too difficult for more than one warrior was passed to them without question as their shield siblings seemed, consciously or no, to recognize their fondness for time spent together. 

And so Vilkas could only nod a stiff hello, afraid any words that might escape would reveal the discomfort swimming in his veins. Thankfully Rheissa did not seem to take note as she continued to sing of the mage’s bravery. Something about clearing out a barrow in Ivarstead...

“Well, draugr are slow and clumsy,” Marcurio replied to her praise. “Hardly a challenge for a man such as myself.”

Oh how Vilkas hated this man.

\------------------------------------------------

Hours later Vilkas sat glowering murderously across the common room where the parasite mage sat closely, too closely, to his Harbinger. Marcurio had swiftly accepted Rhei’s invitation to join their evening meal and spent the entirety of it spinning fantastic tales of his recent adventures. Vilkas had misgivings to truth of such stories; it was not possible for one man to clear an entire den of Falmer, magic or no. And he disliked all the more how easily Rheissa smiled at the man’s arrogant banter and brazen flirtations. Could she not see how lecherous the mage was? For as fierce and perceptive as she was the woman could be maddeningly naive. Even as he watched Marcurio pulled himself closer to Rhiessa and thoughtlessly dropped an arm around her shoulders. A breathy whisper in her ear caused her to laugh as her cheeks flushed.

Definitely a lecher. 

“What’s this?!” the pest declared loudly as one finger snaked under the collar of her armor. Snagging a chain hidden beneath he pulled, revealing a bronze colored talisman. “An amulet of Mara? I’m surprised someone like you isn’t spoken for!”

The blood in Vilkas’ veins became ice. 

A tense chuckle escaped Rhei’s throat as she fidgeted nervously. “Why, interested?” The words themselves were colored in mischief but the flush of her cheeks hinted at something more…

“Well, ye-”

“Harbinger!” The room awash with patrons stilled, all eyes settling on Vilkas as he fervidly marched his way to Rheissa’s side. “May I speak to you outside?” he growled in her ear, eyes never leaving the smirking mage at her side. A furrowed brow was her response, but she rose to follow him into the night air.

“Are you mad?!” he declared as the door closed behind him.

“What??” Legitimate bewilderment only fueled the frenzy raging within him.

“Don’t be daft Rheissa, we both know what’s going on with that mage!”

Confusion gave way to understanding as her eyes widened, and then promptly narrowed as her own temper flared. “And what is that? Harmless flirting?”

“Harmless?!” Vilkas grasped at the traitorous amulet, holding it before her eyes. “You call this harmless?”  
Ordinarily pale already flush with ire deepened to an angry scarlet as she snatched the pendant back from his hand and returned it to the place beneath her armor. “That is none of your business,” she hissed.

“You are the Harbinger! That damn well makes it my business!” 

“So the Harbinger cannot be married?”

“No!” 

“Then perhaps I’ll simply take Marcurio to my bed!” Vilkas felt the blood drain from his face. His horror must have shown because Rhei sneered, inching her way closer as her eyes narrowed and a sadistic grin played across her lips. “Would that be better? A lover to warm my bed at night. Imagine how tongues would wag: the Harbinger of the Companions and her pet mage.” 

Damn the woman, she was trying to aggravate him. And it was working. “As if that lecher would be content with one woman.”

“Do not speak ill of him! Marcurio has been a true friend.”

“So I see!”

“What vexes you more Vilkas? That he’s a mage? Or that he’s interested in me?” Vilkas felt his cheek flush in the face of her wrath as his own rushed to meet it.

“Forgive my concern! Marry who you will!” 

“If the idea troubles you so why don’t you ask me yourself?!” 

“I would have if I’d known dammit!!”

The confession burst forth unbidden, leaving both Nords frozen in the warm Riften twilight. Vilkas yearned to pull the words back despite knowing the truth that gave them life. But looking at Rheissa, wide eyed and staggered, he dreaded that his blunder would cost him the very thing he feared to lose. All ire bled from the man as his shoulders slumped hopelessly and his eyes sought the cobblestones below. For good or ill the truth lay bare between them. 

“Do you mean that?” Her question was whispered so softly that he wasn’t sure if he had heard it. Seeking her eyes, Vilkas felt an ember of hope spring to life within. There was no mocking, no anger, only a vulnerable sort of yearning. She took a step closer and looked up into his eyes. “Did you mean that?” she asked again.

“Yes. Gods, yes.” Gently he ran calloused fingers through her hair, eyes wandering over her face, regarding every facet therein; their eyes met unwaveringly. “Rheissa,” he whispered, “I would stand by your side until the Divines take us.” Another hand framed her face. “That is… if you’ll have me?”

A trifling nod was all she could manage before his lips found hers.

\-------------------------------------

From one of The Bee and Barb’s few windows a grin split Marcurio’s face as he watched the couple embrace. Laughing, the mage drained the glass in his hand and made his way back to his table. Talen-Jei placed replaced the empty tankard, eyes quirking in interest. “What’s funny?” he asked.

“You know, I think our Dragonborn might have finally found herself a mate.”

“You mean that broody fellow?” Marcurio nodded causing the Argonian to click his tongue critically. “I don’t think she’ll be happy with one so sullen.”

A deep belly laugh escaped the mage. “Are you kidding? She’s been lovesick since they met.”


	5. Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much everybody who've been commenting/leaving kudos! Really, they make my day bright and wonderful. :)
> 
> More fluff here, no warnings needed.
> 
> Minor rewrites applied 11/29/15.

“Sir, could you spare a coin?” 

The small voice brought Vilkas to an abrupt standstill. He turned and easily recognized the child sitting beneath the Gildergreen as one of the many youths that made the streets of Whiterun their playground each day. For all the years he’d lived in the densely populated city it seemed that there were always children underfoot and hence he’d never spared them much notice. They romped through the cobblestone paths playing games, doing chores, sometimes assisting their families in the market… But never had any begged him for coin. As his gaze surveyed the youth before him, noting details that would have ordinarily been overlooked, it became abundantly clear that she did indeed require help. A tattered tunic draped across slim shoulders while bare feet peeked out from beneath the frayed hem of her skirt.

Vilkas offered the girl a friendly smile and crouched before her, mindful of the wariness in her gaze. “What is your name little one?”

“Lucia.”

“It’s good to meet you Lucia. My name is Vilkas.” She smiled at him, still wary of the new acquaintance but otherwise intrigued as he took a seat on the bench beside her. “Why are you out here?”

“Well… it’s what Brenuin said I should do.”

“Of course it is,” Vilkas muttered.

“It’s okay, he’s the only one that’s been nice to me since… since Mama…” the small voice waivered as brown eyes flooded with tears. Without thinking Vilkas placed a hand on the girl’s narrow shoulder and was pleased to see her resolve bolstered. Swallowing around her tears, Lucia drew a long trembling breath before continuing. “My mama died. My aunt and uncle took over our farm and threw me out. They said I wasn’t good for anything. So I made my way here.”

It took an exhaustive amount of resolve not let his ire show. What manner of vermin could abandon a child, least of all their own kin? It was an old wound born from a half remembered life he no longer considered his own: fragmented memories of a dark haired woman and the scent of Dragon’s Tongue, followed by cages and darkness and the smell of magic and death. His brother clinging to him, calling out for a woman who had forsaken them in favor of her own survival… 

“Lucia, are you hungry?” The girl nodded vigorously, her fervor inspiring his smile to return. “Let’s get you something to eat.” Eagerly she seized his hand, clinging to it in hopeful desperation. Looking down at her buoyant expression conjured a sense of righteous absolution. He could not right the wrongs done to this child, just as he could not cleanse the scars from himself or his brother. But that did not make him powerless.

\------------------------------------------

The warriors of Jorrvaskr appeared to be somewhat besotted by the hall’s newest guest. As Vilkas had hoped Tilma fretted over the child, ensuring that she was both bathed and properly fed. Once Lucia had eaten her fill Athis regaled her with tales of Ysgramor and his Companions, animatedly reenacting the more rousing battles with help from Farkas while Ria twisted the girl’s hair into tiny braids.

Vilkas watched from a distance, wistfully reveling in the joy they had been able to bring to one whose life had been so shattered. He had been stunned when they’d turned to climb the stairs to Jorrvaskr and Lucia grip on his hand had tightened fearfully. “We can’t go in there!” she had cried, looking about nervously as if some hidden evil would assault them at any moment.

“Oh?” he’d asked, amusement bleeding into his words. “Why is that?”

“That’s where the beasts go.”

“The beasts?” 

Lucia nodded, her eyes growing wide. “Brenuin says they look like normal people but turn into monsters when no one is looking! He says they’re bigger than a house!”

Making a mental note to have a stern conversation with the beggar, Vilkas knelt before the trembling child and spoke softly so as not to frighten her further. “What if I told you that I’m one of those beasts?” It didn’t seem possible for the girl’s eyes to grow any rounder, and yet they had. “It’s true. Me, my brother, my wife… and I think you can see that I am not bigger than a house.”

“Do…do you promise?”

“I give you my word: not a single person in that hall would harm a child.”

Still it had taken some coaxing to urge the terrified girl through Jorrvaskr’s double doors. But witnessing her suspicion steadily fade in the face of empathy was a precious gift.

Aela found a place on the bench beside Vilkas and crossed her arms, watching their shield siblings staging scenes from a more recent adventure. “She’s a strong one,” the huntress said, nodding toward the child smiling widely from Ria’s lap.

“Aye, that she is.”

“Does your wife know?”

The smugness of her tone knit his brows together in a not at all veiled frown. “Does my wife know what?”

“That you’ve brought home a pup?”

“I’m not bringing home anyone. This is just for the night. Farkas and I will take her to Riften in the morning.”

A good natured snort echoed from his left as Aela rose to her feet. “Say what you will brother, but I think we both know how this story will end.” Vilkas’ glare trailed his shield-sister as she abandoned him to his thoughts.

Aela knew nothing. He’d been wed to Rheissa less than a year, an innumerable amount of which had been spent apart as they had been called to one obligation or another. Even now she traveled from Windhelm with Lydia after being called to assist Jarl Ulfric with ending his damned rebellion. To even consider children in the midst of such disarray... Such matters aside, there were still the dragons to be dealt with and Jorrvaskr to manage. How could they raise a child with the knowledge that each journey might be the last? Surely the girl would fare better at the orphanage where a real family could have a chance to find her.

But the inner voice that had manifested the moment Lucia crossed the threshold of the ancient mead hall whispered bittersweet promises of family that Vilkas had long thought lost to him. Rheissa was Thane of nearly half the holds in Skyrim and had come to the aid of Jarls and the common people alike. Surely someone could stay with the child if they were both needed elsewhere? Then there were the couple’s many friends and allies within Whiterun; he was certain Olfina Gray-Mane would be beside herself with a young mind to mold and there was always Lydia… With such possibilities presented it seemed a far more conceivable future than he’d allowed himself to believe, causing the absence of his wife to ache all the more. What he wouldn’t give to discuss the issue with Rheissa.

“Vilkas,” his brother called, bringing his notice to the long bench where Lucia dozed lightly. The warrior was powerless to stop the smile that tugged as his cheeks as he scooped the girl up and made his way down the stairs to the Harbinger’s quarters. As gently as he was able Vilkas slipped his charge beneath the heavy quilt. But before he could withdraw from the bed completely a small hand grasped his.

“Will you stay with me?” the voice heavy with sleep posed. He stilled, unsure what help his presence would be. “I… I’m scared. What will I do?” The girl’s eyes filled with tears. “I miss Mama so much…”

All hesitation dissolved as Vilkas easily pulled the girl into his lap while she wept. A hand rose to the loose braids in her hair and carefully wove through the fine strands. “You’ll be all right sweet girl,” he murmured. “No need for tears.” Thus they remained for a time, until Lucia’s cries slowed as her eyes grew heavy. She offered no protest as Vilkas lowered her to the bed once more. 

“Are you… are you going to be my father?” The hope behind the whispered question broke something within the Nord as he caught his breath.

“We’ll see,” was all he could offer, straining desperately to keep the tremor from his voice. “Time enough for that talk in the morning.”

“Where are you going?”

“I need to speak with Tilma. You go to sleep. I’ll be back soon.” Lucia nodded and burrowed into the blankets, exhaustion already stealing over her.

As Vilkas closed the doors to the small bedroom he turned… and was startled to find Rheissa entering the foyer, her armor already discarded in favor of the loose tunic and trousers she preferred at home. Without speaking his steps carried him across the room and he pulled her into his arms, drinking in the sensation of her body against his and the knowledge that she had returned to him intact and unscathed. There they stood for a moment, entwined, before she removed herself from the embrace. 

“Vilkas… there’s something I have to tell you.”

Fear began to take hold as Vilkas searched for what might be the cause of her unease. “What is it? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. But… there’s something you need to see.” His brow furrowed but he nodded all the same as she gently took his hand and led him from Jorrvaskr. 

They walked the short distance to Breezehome in silence, the night air doing nothing to soothe the unrest rising unchecked within him. When they finally reached the small dwelling Lydia greeted them at the door, one finger lingering over her lips to indicate quiet. Rhei nodded and led Vilkas up the stairs where the bedroom doors lay closed. She hesitated a moment, nervously looking from him to the door before finally revealing a small figure in the bed they normally shared. A blonde girl, roughly the age of Lucia if he were to guess, lay bundled in the furs on the bed. Rheissa silently drew the doors closed once more and motioned for him to follow her back downstairs. Questions rose to his lips but Rhei spoke first.

“Her name is Sofie,” she whispered. “I found her selling flowers in Windhelm.” Before Vilkas make a second attempt a speech a lengthy explanation tumbled from Rheissa’s lips. “I’m so sorry I didn’t get a chance to discuss it with you,” she whispered, “but the poor thing was starved. I tried to find her family but Ulfric insisted her father had been killed in the war. I… I know this is an enormous commitment but when I saw her standing barefoot in the snow I-”

“Rhei, I understand.”

The astonishment in her silence brought forth a laugh from her husband. “I have something to show you too.”


	6. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst ahoy for this one. I don't know why I enjoy torturing these two so much. 
> 
> There are a few spoilers for the main questline. Honestly, the spoilers are only going to get worse from here.
> 
> Minor rewrites added 11/29/15/

The city of Whiterun seemed to be holding its breath as restorations to Dragonsreach commenced. The ancient mechanisms that comprised a trap meant to ensnare and restrain a dragon had not been moved in centuries. Farengar was convinced the poorly maintained device could be repaired, though he also insisted that such a feat would take time. So while the mundane affairs of the city continued each day was riddled with new whispers and rumors rampantly scattering throughout the hold.

Rheissa had made it her priority to lend neither credence nor confirmation to the gossip writhing through the streets, instead spending the days preparing for what would inevitably be an arduous battle with Alduin. Hours each morning were spent at the Skyforge with Eorland attempting to better her weapons and forging as many arrows as she could carry. The master smith himself had requested that she give him all of dragon remnants she’d collected. When she’d probed as to the purpose he had only asked, “Do you want to live, girl?” 

Time not spent at the Skyforge was spent below sparring with any of their shield-siblings that were willing. While Vilkas’ attempts to teach had been unstinting it was Athis who had achieved the most success. He imparted all that he could to the Harbinger as she set aside her bow in favor of two unencumbering blades, their mantra being “speed over strength.”

The nights Rheissa and Vilkas set aside for family alone. Not long before sundown the two Companions would retire to Breezehome and share a meal with their children. The girls would smile and laugh, animatedly describing the adventures they’d found in the streets of Whiterun that day. Afterward Sofie and Lucia settled into the large bed upstairs and listen as their parents read stories from one volume or another, spinning tales of heroes and happier times. Once the children’s eyes could stay open no longer Rheissa and Vilkas would scoop them up and carry them down the stairs to their own beds. Rhei had found that their peaceful repose gave her courage; courage that there was nothing too dire, too horrific. If two children whose lives had been surmounted by tragedy could overcome then perhaps she too could endure. Perhaps there was hope. 

The remainder of the night was saved for Vilkas as they tried desperately to fill every moment with a lifetime. Desperate lovemaking and earnest confessions lasted deep into the night brought on by the nagging dread that neither would voice but both could feel as a physical ache in the heart: that the battle to come might be the last. 

One such night, long after the children had been carried to bed, a tormented cry ruptured the silence of Breezehome. Instinct drove the battle hardened Nords to their feet, weapons materializing from a number of hiding places as they flew down the stairs. Rheissa stopped when her inner wolf cried out that there was no danger, the familiar scents of their family the only ones reaching her, and turned to where their children lay. Lucia’s wide eyes met hers in the dark before darting to where Sofie thrashed wildly in her sleep, tears coursing down her cheeks as she struggled to banish the foes plaguing her. The two parents discarded their weapons before making their way into the small room.

Rheissa sat on Lucia’s bed, pulling the little Imperial into her arms as Vilkas gently strove to rouse the tormented child. “What’s wrong with Sofie?” Lucia asked quietly. 

“Probably just a nightmare,” Rhei whispered, comfortingly running a hand through her daughter’s hair. “Nothing to fear.”

Vilkas’ endeavors found success as eyes bright with tears wrenched opened and frantically searched the room before settling on the man before them. But awareness did little to soothe as Sofie ardently gripped to her father and continued to sob. “Sofie,” Vilkas tried, raising her chin to see her more clearly. “What’s wrong? Did you have a bad dream?” 

At first she hesitated, eyes darting between the two adults seated before her, before whispering, “Is Mama going to die?”

The room chilled in stunned silence as the question that both Rheissa and Vilkas had been evading was given life. Quickly fighting back the unforeseen gale of fear Rhei turned her focus to the issue at hand. “What makes you think that?” She was proud of how steady her voice sounded.

“That’s what Braith said. She said you have to fight Akatosh.” Tears began to well once more. “She said you’re going to die and never come home.”

Lucia looked up to her mother, eyes growing wide with alarm. “Is that true?!”

Rheissa and Vilkas exchanged pained looks in the face of their children’s alarm. How could they lie? How could they maintain that there was nothing to fear as they themselves struggled to stay afloat on a sea of doubt? The world had asked Rheissa to face the World Eater and so face him she would. But to promise her children that she would live… could they forgive her if such a promise was broken? Could she forgive herself? 

Without speaking Rhei lifted Lucia and, Vilkas and Sofie following, moved to up the stairs to the larger bed. The two parents arranged the girls protectively between them though the gesture did little to ease the searching and frightened faces.

“Sofie, Lucia, you both know I love you. I love you more than anything.”

“Even Papa?”

Rhei smiled and noticed the expression mirrored in her husband. “Yes, even Papa. So I’m going to tell you the truth.” Both girls nodded solemnly. “Very soon I’m going to leave. I have to fight a very powerful dragon. But I promise it is not Akatosh.”

“Are you coming back?”

Her heart fissured. “I don’t know.” Sofie’s eyes began to swim and Lucia’s lips trembled. “Listen to me sweet girls. Death is a part of living and it comes to every person, even me. This dragon is hurting a lot of people. He won’t stop. And I am the only one who can make him.”

Both children clung to her firmly, Lucia whimpering, “I don’t want you to go.”

Her own vision began to blur as Rhei looked to Vilkas in a silent plea. He gently pulled the anxious children into his arms. “None of us want her to go,” he explained gently. “Your mama doesn’t want to go either. But she’s being very brave. And sometimes being brave means doing the right thing when you’d rather be selfish.” Both girls were silent as they considered his words. “Your mama needs us to be brave too.”

In the end fatigue found the heartsick children enclosed securely in their parents’ arms. But neither guardian could find rest, instead choosing to savor the gentle moment with the family they had fashioned. A myriad of silent words and vows of love passed through their tranquil gaze before Rhei looked away. “Faringar says it could be another week before the trap is ready,” she whispered over Sofie’s head. “I want to take care of something before then.”

“Anything.”

“I want you to come with me to Ysgramor’s tomb.”

The silence became heavy as she let the meaning of her declaration settle before Vilkas assumed the frown she had known him to wear so often. “Rheissa, we can’t. Not yet. You’ll need every-”

“I know. But if… the worst should happen,” she chose to ignore the way his face tightened, “I want to be waiting for you in Sovangarde.” The weighty silence spurred her. “The only reason we’ve not forsaken the beast blood is because of the strength it lent us for this journey. And now your part is done.” Still he did not reply. “I can face Alduin with an easy heart knowing that we will be together again. No matter the outcome.”

The sorrowful man placed a kiss on the palm of her hand as a defeated breath escaped him. “All right,” he acquiesced. “We’ll cleanse our souls. Together.”


	7. Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MOAR ANGST!! 
> 
> Yeah, I know. But I promise this will be it for a little bit. We'll get back to happy and fun fluff presently. Just had to get this out there first. Again, please remember that these chapters are 100% un-beta'd.
> 
> Minor rewrites applied 11/29/15.

Rheissa pulled Vilkas to a secluded corner of the Great Porch seeking privacy from both their newest “ally” and the guards milling about anxiously. “Take the girls to Jorrvaskr,” she whispered, the words falling from her lips urgently. “Keep everyone there until you are certain it’s safe. If I do not return-”

“You will.” The firm certainty behind her husband’s simple declaration fanned the bittersweet fires already leaping across her heart

“But if I don’t… you need to prepare. You’ll need to lead them.” Silence. As necessary as her words were Rhei wanted nothing more than to have them vanish, to kill the new and horrible possibility making itself more of a reality with every breath.

Vilkas gently lifted her face to his and she was surprised to see only confident conviction there. “You will succeed. You will smite that black bastard and scatter his remains to Oblivion.” His eyes narrowed. “And then you will return to me. To our children.” Suddenly her lips were on his, all the fire and desperation of the last year blazing in a life all its own.

As they separated Rheissa pulled Vilkas’ forehead against her own. “I love you,” she whispered. “Wait for me.”

“Forever.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------

He knew what the storm meant; they all did. Jorrvaskr was somber as each Companion listened to the raging skies, roaring thunder echoing across Skyrim as their Harbinger fought Alduin. And with each bone rattling crash Vilkas felt himself unravel a little more. He’d been immeasurably indebted to Tilma for putting Sofie and Lucia to bed as the mask of stoic conviction he’d been hiding behind for the sake of his wife and children had worn nearly completely away, leaving only a tormented man in its wake. He stared into the fire as fear for the woman he loved gnawed mercilessly at his heart. Time blurred together while his thoughts raced and the heavens bellowed.

Several flagons of mead and the low sounds of the hall eventually lulled the heartsick man into a light slumber. And as he slept he dreamed. He dreamed of dragons and fire, of the rainbow skies above Sovangarde…. and of Rheissa. She stood proudly before the World Eater, a defiant snarl gracing her lips as she loosed arrow after arrow. They clashed again and again, the force of their shouts rocking the ground beneath their feet. 

A bolt of lightning struck, leaving Vilkas in darkness. He moved slowly, hands feeling blindly along stone walls so familiar that he needed no light to guide him. Upon reaching the plateau atop the stairs he found the Skyforge dark, discomfort wresting away familiarity for he had never seen the ancient furnace unlit. A lowly ember answered his thoughts as it began to glow, followed by another. Then another. Gradual warm light began to fill the space revealing a figure resting atop the coals, armored and ready for the pyre. Defiant in the face of death Vilkas made his way forward. But at his approach the wood came aflame, illuminating the face of the warrior. The sight of his Rheissa, ashen and still, was far from anything he had been prepared for. Gasping around the raging pain in his heart, the man struggled to reach her through the growing flames. The heat grew to unbearable heights and through the roaring inferno whispered words from what seemed like a lifetime ago echoed.

_I love you… Wait for me. ___

__It was not the storm but the stillness that startled Vilkas from his rest. And it was not relief he felt upon waking but a desperate measure of panic. Had she done it? Was she standing victorious over Alduin’s corpse? Would they allow her to return to Nirn after such a feat? Or had the world eater struck her down? Was her soul now lost in the belly of that thrice damned dragon?_ _

__Deciding that his heart did not have the strength to sit idly waiting for tidings that might never come Vilkas sprang to his feet and made for the door. “Stay with the girls,” he grumbled to Tilma as he slung his great sword over his shoulders._ _

__“Vilkas!” his brother called. “Where are you going?”_ _

__“The battle is done.”_ _

__“But where are you going?”_ _

__“I’m going to find my wife!”_ _

__“Where will you look?”_ _

__The question stilled all movement. Where would he look? The troubled man stood at the door of Jorrvaskr, weapon in hand, every sinew demanding action… but with no direction. He knew he could not reach her in Sovangarde. But he also knew that if she had returned to Nirn she would emerge somewhere… “The Greybeards,” Vilkas muttered. “If anyone knows what’s happened it will be their damned dragon.”_ _

__And then he was moving again, legs swiftly carrying him down the steps of Jorrvaskr and past the citizens of Whiterun. His instincts sang, elated to have a focus, a purpose. It was not until he reached the city’s walls that he became mindful of the heavy footfalls following. “Go back brother.”_ _

__“You’re not going alone.”_ _

__“This isn’t your problem.”_ _

__“Rheissa is our Harbinger. And your wife. And my sister. So it is my problem.”_ _

__Vilkas whirled around, determined to dissuade his brother from accompanying him on this particular journey. He was prepared for resistance, for anger, for dense stubbornness… but instead found only resolve. Their shield siblings may have taunted the hulking Nord for his lack of intellect but Farkas knew people. More than that he knew his brother. And as much as it hurt his pride Vilkas could concede, if only to himself, that the journey would be far easier to endure with his twin beside him. Farkas dropped a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder in a silent display of solidarity before nudging him toward the eastern road._ _

__They hadn’t yet reached the Valtheim Towers when a sound unlike anything Vilkas had heard before echoed around them. The shouts of countless dragons wailed through the valley, the cavernous mountains on all sides only serving to amplify their cries. Farkas looked to his brother. “Do you suppose that’s a good sign or a bad one?” Vilkas could not bring himself to answer the question, instead concentrating on the road ahead._ _

__The brothers moved swiftly, stopping for neither food nor drink. Farkas seemed to understand his brother’s need for movement and did not question, choosing instead to follow in comfortable silence. As the sun rose above the mountains and the sky began to lighten the twins increased their pace. It wasn’t until they were nearing Ivastead, the river widening before them, that a man waved and shouted from the road. “Hello! I’m glad I found you. I’ve got a letter from High Hrothgar. Must be importa-” The wiry courier was not given an opportunity to speak further before Vilkas seized the missive from his hand and ripped it open._ _

___The Dragonborn lives. She awaits you at High Hrothgar. ____ _

____The note was brief, offering no detail or circumstance… But its contents were enough to lift Vilkas the dark sea of fear in which he’d been drowning. A manic laugh tore from his lips as he exclaimed, “She lives! By Ysgramor she did it. She’s with the Greybeards.”_ _ _ _

____“Then let’s get moving.”_ _ _ _

____\----------------------------------------_ _ _ _

____Vilkas did not stop to knock on the doors of High Hrothgar, instead throwing them aside eagerly as he sought any sign of Arngeir or Rhiessa. He did not have to search long, the clamor of banging doors and heavily armored treads drawing out three of the four sages. Arngeir advanced in his agedly slow custom and nodded his head in a polite greeting._ _ _ _

____“Welcome Companions of Jorrvaskr. We did not expect you to arrive so quickly, but it is good that you have come.”_ _ _ _

____“Where is she?”_ _ _ _

____Arngeir directed the brothers toward the living quarters. “We have been tending to her wounds as best we can,” he explained in a soft tone, “but I am afraid we are not equipped to deal with such injuries.”_ _ _ _

____Farkas gave voice to the words that held fast in Vilkas’ throat. “What injuries?”_ _ _ _

____“Her wounds were numerous. We have done what we can but without much in the way of magic or supplies we are limited.” As they rounded the corner Vilkas’ eyes were drawn to the only occupied bed. His feet moved without thought to where the remaining sage tended the sundry burns that lined her bow arm. Typically pale and smooth skin appeared clammy and flushed with fever as she shivered in her sleep despite the heavy furs shielding her from the cold of the stone hall._ _ _ _

____“Rhiessa,” Vilkas breathed as placed a gentle hand on her burning brow. “I’m here love.” After neither voice nor touch prompted any response he looked to Arngeir in question._ _ _ _

____“When she came to us maimed and bloodied she said only ‘it’s finished’ before collapsing. She has slept since her descent from the peak.”_ _ _ _

____“What do you need to treat these wounds?” Vilkas demanded. “Why have provisions not been brought?”_ _ _ _

____“The courier was meant to deliver our request but there has been no word from Ivarstead.”_ _ _ _

____Vilkas met his brother’s gaze in a desperate plea. Two sets of sliver eyes communed silently before the bigger twin nodded. “I’ll fetch what you need. Give me a list.”_ _ _ _

____\--------------------------------------------------------_ _ _ _

____Two days after Farkas’ departure and still there was no word. Despite the Arngeir’s assurance that grueling travel along the mountain paths could easily account for such silence Vilkas found his faith beginning to fray as he attended to his weakening lover. Painful little could be done apart from replacing the dressings on her wounds. When he had first seen the deep lesions in her abdomen from what he could only assume were dragon claws Vilkas had nearly choked on his rage. The wounds were deep and vicious, some beginning to darken and sour without proper healing._ _ _ _

____And the fever’s unyielding grip remained ever present, never allowing Rhei to return fully to wakefulness. She would murmur and cry out, heated nightmares offering an unending form of torment. “Keep her head cool,” Arngeir had warned, “lest she never awaken.”_ _ _ _

____Thus it was as Vilkas brought a freshly soaked rag to his wife’s brow he was startled by the glossy gaze that met his. “Rhei?”_ _ _ _

____“Vilkas.” The rasping whisper both broke and warmed his heart._ _ _ _

____“I’m here love. I’m right here.” Her smile, though weak, was full of warmth as Vilkas gently cupped her face in his hands._ _ _ _

____“Vilkas… I saw them.”_ _ _ _

____“Saw who?”_ _ _ _

____“All of them. High King Toreg. Ysgramor. Olaf One-Eye. And… Kodlak. He was there… in Sovangarde. He was lost in the mist but I found him.” As unsettled as he was to hear his wife speak of encountering the ancient heroes of their homeland the relief that followed was welcome. Long had the two Nords feared for Kodlak’s soul. With Alduin feasting on spirits of the slain there had been no way to know if the Harbinger’s spirit remained intact. Had his soul been purified only to be devoured? It brought Vilkas comfort to know that the old man could now join the others in Shor’s Hall._ _ _ _

____Smiling down at his wife, he brushed wayward strands of hair away from her clammy brow. “I’m glad Kodlak is at peace.”_ _ _ _

____Her glossy gaze filled with tears. “He’s so grateful. He said he’s proud of you.” A trembling hand lifted from the bed, Vilkas guiding it to his own face as he kissed her palm. Eyes fluttered against fevered cheeks, a quivering breath escaping her shattered body. “You’ve come so far my love. You will be a noble Harbinger.”_ _ _ _

____Her words sent the fear held so firmly at bay scuttling through him. “None of that talk now,” he demanded softly as he sat up. “Farkas has gone to get you medicine. You just have to-” The fear hardened to ice when her glassy stare moved through him. His name fell from her lips as her chest heaved one more shuddering breath… and did not rise again._ _ _ _

____“No!” Vilkas snarled and frantically clutched her face between his hands, turning it in a vain attempt to catch her sightless gaze. “Rheissa, please…”_ _ _ _

____The sound of heavy armor sounded throughout the hall, heralding Farkas’ arrival. Vilkas brought his frenzied gaze to bear on his brother rounding the corner, Marcurio not far behind. “By the gods,” the mage whispered as he swiftly moved past his hulking companion toward the motionless form of the Dragonborn. When golden light shone at his hands Vilkas could not contain his rage._ _ _ _

____“What are you doing?” he snarled, leaping across his wife’s still body to place himself between her and the object of his ire._ _ _ _

____“Brother, he can heal her!”_ _ _ _

____No one spoke as the miasma of agony and wrath engulfing Vilkas’ mind thinned. He regarded the robed Imperial before him, not trusting the dangerous seeds of hope already festering within. “Can you save her?”_ _ _ _

____“I can try.”_ _ _ _

____The stricken man backed toward his brother and allowed the caster to begin his work. Golden light spilled throughout the chamber, weaving in and around the prone woman. With a muttered curse Marcurio gently spread his unused hand across her chest, lightning dancing to life between his lithe digits; Rheissa’s corpse arched beneath his touch while golden light surged forth and the static feeling of magic filled the room. Something about the sight of his love’s unseeing eyes and lifeless form lolling beneath the power weaving through it burned itself into Vilkas’ mind. Finally the casting ceased as the mage wilted beside his charge. “Farkas,” Marcurio panted, “potion.”_ _ _ _

____Farkas quickly pulled an azure flask from the bundle at his side and offered it to the ailing Imperial, thus setting the pace for the night: one man casting while two nearly identical brothers supplied one potion after another. Vilkas paced for a time, grief and hope warring mercilessly in his heart. He wandered the stone corridors of High Hrothgar, believing that perhaps not having to watch Marcurio battle for Rhei’s life would ease his agony. But after only a few trifling minutes of uncertainty he found himself patrolling the narrow living quarters once more._ _ _ _

____It was a lifetime later when Rheissa gasped, greedily drinking in one breath after another as the depleted mage sagged to the floor. Vilkas gathered his wife in his arms, all fear abandoned in lieu of the fullness of her lungs and beat of her heart. Flesh once dark with corruption had reverted as the scent of death faded from the chamber. And while her flushed cheeks persisted, the heat of her body remained typical, her slumber tranquil._ _ _ _

____“I need to rest,” Marcurio managed as Farkas helped him to his feet. “But she is not in any danger tonight.”_ _ _ _

____Vilkas brought his gaze to the mage’s, tears of relief and gratitude shining brightly in his silver eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered, pulling his resting wife closer. “Thank you for her life.”_ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That wasn't so bad, was it?
> 
> On a side note, I realize I took some liberties with Marcurio's abilities. But I figure he can heal and shoot lightning so, ya know, why not? ^.~


	8. Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay getting this up, work has been an absolute bear this week. Things are looking pretty hairy on that end so updates may be spaced out by a few days. :( I’m not real happy about that either. 
> 
> And now back to your regularly scheduled fluff!
> 
> Minor rewrites applied 11/29/15.

Vilkas was not wrong when he said that Riften was a tough city. The decision to move their family to Honeyside while Rheissa attended to business in the Reach came with the singular intent to keep their children near; little consideration had been given to the state of the city itself. The Thieves Guild still ran through the hold capital like refuse through the canal while vagrants and underhanded guards meandered through the streets. And though Rheissa and Brynjolf had established a tentative rapport based on passive aggressive allusions and half veiled threats, Maven Black-Briar was another matter. She had made no effort to mask her disdain for the Dragonborn, nor had she been subtle in her threats against Rhei and her family. Hauling that hagraven down from her pedestal was quickly becoming one of Rheissa’s most fervent ambitions. 

But Sofie and Lucia were well protected. Through their noble endeavors and proven loyalty Rhei and Vilkas had collected their own diverse clutch of allies. Mjoll and Aerin spent their days in the market, one pair of eyes always on the girls, while the blacksmith Balimund also watched for any dangers lurking in the shadows. Even Marcurio, despite his ceaseless declarations of, “I’m an apprentice wizard, not a nursemaid!” had grown a soft spot for the Dovahkiin and her family and had agreed to be the parents’ eyes... for a fee of course.

And Iona. Devoted, loyal, overbearing Iona hovered about the children as if they would be snatched from the ground by a dragon at any moment. It was not that Rheissa objected to her vigilance, in truth it had become a steadfast comfort when she and Vilkas were called away from the city for one task or another, but she was well aware how it grated on her daughters’ nerves. “They needn’t be in arm’s reach all the time,” she’d gently told the housecarl, only to receive a scowl.

“I don’t like the way that Brynjolf looks at those girls,” she grumbled. 

“What do you mean?”

“He talks to them too much.”

Rheissa and Vilkas had exchanged indulgent looks, brushing off the fussing woman’s qualms as simply the concerns of a wary protector. The subject of Brynjolf was disregarded for a time and it was not until the small family was sharing a meal around Honeyside’s tiny table that the subject was raised once more. The two children were giving animated accounts of their adventures in the city when Lucia chirped, “Mister Brynjolf is so nice! He gave me an apple yesterday.”

Sofie interjected around a mouthful of bread, “Yeah, he said he would teach us a lot of neat things. But not until when we get older.”

Tension hemorrhaged between the two parents as they entertained the meaning of words that their daughters in their naivety could not grasp. Only with tremendous effort was Rhei able to wrestle her mounting ire into submission. “Is that so?” she managed around a forced smile. Sofie and Lucia nodded in tandem, innocuously unaware of the storm brewing before them. It was not until the girls had finished their meal and vanished down the stairs that either adult permitted their true sentiments to reign.

“I’m going to kill him,” Vilkas snarled around a scathing glare. “If that bastard comes near them again-” Rheissa’s violent rise from the table halted her husband’s oaths of violence. She strode swiftly toward the door, pulling a cloak over her shoulders. “Where are you going?”

“Wait here.” The words brokered no room for dispute.

\-------------------------------------

“Brynjolf, might I have a word?” Her tone was serene enough, spoken with a light manner that would have taken in any other stranger. But Rhei was certain the man recognized the venom coursing beneath as his brows rose in question. Curiosity surpassed caution as he abandoned his fraudulent elixir and shadowed the new and intriguing prospect. Rheissa feigned ignorance to the way the market’s occupants tensed at their passing, accompanied by the indirect signals imparted amongst Bryn and those she could now identify as his associates; a lingering nod to Maven Black-Briar, a minuscule shake of the head as Sapphire stilled in her shrouded perch, a reassuring twinge of his lips toward a Redguard woman standing on the docks below… Moving away from the milling crowd she led the ginger headed man through the gate into the unoccupied courtyard of the Temple of Mara.

Brynjolf turned to her, a grin making itself at home on his face as his arms spread hospitably. “Well well, to what do I owe the pleasure my Thane?” Rhei smiled at his easy manner, though it did nothing to dissuade her purpose. 

“I had an interesting conversation with my daughters this evening.”

“Oh?”

“They seem to like you.”

The grin grew wider. “They’re good girls.”

“I suppose I didn’t realize you were… acquainted.” 

He shrugged casually, tucking his hands into his belt. “I see them in the market from time to time, give them fruit or sweets.”

“I see. And that’s all you’ve been giving them?” The hard edge that crept into her voice thickened the air between them.

“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

“Sofie suggested that you had offered to ‘teach them a few things?’”

Brynjolf chuckled. “It’s not what you think lass.”

“It’s not?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“So I’m imagining that a Thieves Guild’s emissary offered to teach my girls the skills of his trade?”

Silence reigned as Bryn’s eyebrows reached his hairline; Rhei could not deny the sadistic satisfaction that seemed to come with catching the silver-tongued man unawares. His smirk returned as candid amusement superseded surprise. “Well now, I can’t say I expected such candor. How much do you know?”

“More than you’d like me to.” Silence lent credence to the unspoken threat, all pretense of amiability lost as the two Nords traded glares. Finally Rhei conceded as she replaced her scathing expression with a more approachable one. “Listen Brynjolf, I like you. I want no blood shed between us. I wonder if you might consider an… arrangement.”

The possibility of an armistice seemed to pacify the man as his stance relaxed. “What are you proposing?”

“A truce of sorts. You continue to do… whatever it is that you do. I won’t interfere. But know that if I catch one of your people in the act or if you start taking cues from the Dark Brotherhood I will be forced to respond.”

“Fair enough.”

“I also know you’re in bed with Maven Black-Briar.” His eyebrows arched once more. “Don’t act surprised Bryn, she brags about how she’s got the guild in her pocket to anyone who looks at her wrong. I want to be informed if she ever plans to move against me.”

Already the man was shaking his head. “I can’t double-cross Maven. It’s suicide.”

“You think that antagonizing the Dragonborn is better for your health?”

“Sorry lass, but she’s our principal benefactor. I can’t betray her confidence. That’s just bad business.”

“Brynjolf I am the Dovahkiin, slayer of Alduin. I’ve seen Sovangarde, spoken with Ysgramor, and I can literally summon a dragon with a word. And if that isn’t enough to convince you, I am also Harbinger of the Companions and a close confidant to the man who will soon be High King. Nearly every Jarl in Skyrim counts me as friend. All I’m asking for is warning if you catch word Maven plans to make an attempt on my life or the lives of my family. And I pay well.”

For the first time since meeting the man Brynjolf’s poise vanished. Shifting from one foot to the other, a heavy hand dragged gruffly down his face as his eyes darted around the isolated courtyard anxiously. “Alright. I’ll send word,” he whispered, still scanning the space around them. “But it will be one of my people and you’ll send payment with whoever hands you the letter. None other.”

“Fair enough,” she echoed. Both Nords eased with the terms seemingly agreed upon. “I’m glad we could help each other.”

“As am I. I would hate to have you for an enemy.” 

“Thanks for the reminder.” Quicker than the man could counter Rheissa’s steel-clad fist met with an unshaven cheek. He staggered back, eyes studying her in surprise and caution as he waited for another attack. “Stay away from my children. If they start picking pockets… well, we will have to talk again. And you will not enjoy it.”

They stood for a moment, each appraising the other as both allies and adversaries, before Brynjolf’s grin returned in earnest. “It’s a shame you won’t join us lass. Your talents would be good for business.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually a prompt from a friend. She wanted to see fierce mama-bear Dragonborn.
> 
> Don’t get me wrong, I love Bryn. But it’s always been my personal thought that a character that puts a lot of stock in what the Companions are all about wouldn’t be so quick to join the Theives Guild or Dark Brotherhood. So I have separate playthroughs for those particular quest lines. ;)


	9. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blah, work just will not let up! I swear I'm spending more time there than at home these days. I'm so happy to finally get something posted!
> 
> Some shameless lovey fluff ahead. You've been warned. ^.~
> 
> Minor rewrites applied 11/29/15.

It was with little explanation that Rheissa dragged Vilkas from Breezehome that morning. A quick meal, whispered instructions to Lydia to stay with the children, and hurriedly donned equipment saw them out the door before the sun had fully risen. Not until mounting his horse did it occur to the exhausted man to ask what manner of adventure his wife saw fit to drag him on.

“I just want to check on a few things,” was that was offered, so he let it rest. They rode north in silence stopping only long enough to kill a few rouge wolves and dispatch some bandits near Whitewatch Tower. Rhei smiled and waved as the couple passed Vantus Loreius working outside and once they’d crested the hill above the small farm Rheissa dismounted and scanned the area appraisingly. “Let’s look around,” she suggested as Vilkas climbed off his horse.

The couple abandoned their animals to graze while they explored on foot. For an hour they scouted both field and forest, finding little more than giant camps and a rouge shrine to Talos. And all the while Vilkas was left wondering what in Shor’s beard they were seeking. That strange fellow they’d happened across on the road last month was long gone, his dead mother with him, and there were no legitimate threats to speak of… what could she possibly be searching for? It was not until they began climbing the snowy path up a stony rise that familiarity dawned on the man. “No,” the growl passed through gritted teeth, tension working its way through every fiber and sinew. He was surely imagining…

Turning the corner they came upon the source of his unease: a stone gatehouse, one of many that dotted the mountains of Skyrim, nestled neatly atop the hill, its gilded doors shining enticingly in the early morning rays. In the time since their prior visit to the stunted spire a small encampment had formed at its entrance. The dense layer of snow coating each chest and bedroll indicated that the camp’s architects had departed long ago. Lost to the evil below, of that Vilkas had no doubt.

“I’ll be damned,” Rhei breathed, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Vilkas turned, alarm and traces of fear making his eyes wide. “We are not going down there again.”

“Why not? Nothing could be worse than the first time, right?”

She was not wrong; Blackreach had been a nightmare. Falmer around every corner, Dwemer constructs, Chaurus, spiders… When they’d finally reached the Tower of Mzark Vilkas’ relief was staggering….

_Slowly he pushed the doors open, sword in hand… and said a silent prayer of thanks to all the Divines that another ghastly creature had not taken up residence. The two Nords secured the lift behind them then proceeded to barricade the doors for good measure, tossing any nearby bronze scraps and gilded furniture in front of the massive entry. Only once he was certain of their safety did Vilkas allow his exhaustion to overtake him as he sank gracelessly against the wall, his eyes fluttering closed. Fatigue coiled deeply, only serving to heighten the ache living in every joint and limb. The grievous gash in his side had turned numb long ago, something that should have alarmed the ailing man. But he could only muster an exasperated sentiment of appreciation for both the lifesaving reaction of his wife and their newfound sanctuary._

_Vilkas made no attempt to rise as the sound of Rheissa methodically searching their new accommodations echoed quietly through the stone chamber. “Anything?”_

_“A few potions and a few gems.”_

_The shifting of her pack’s contents heralded his wife kneeling before him, his glossy eyes opening around heavy lids. “Let’s take a look at that wound,” she muttered as she reached for his mangled armor but he batted her away weakly._

_“It’s nothing. Leave it.” His order went unheeded as she endeavored again but was stopped by trembling hands. “Rhei,” he rasped, “it can wait. We can’t spare the potions.” He was right. They both knew he was right. Their dwindling supplies had been depleted in Rheissa’s desperate bid to keep her husband’s soul tethered to his body. The gods alone knew how much further they had to travel or what manner of nightmares lay ahead._

_Rhei glowered in the face of the dismal weight of his words. “Fine. But you’ll eat some mushrooms at least.”_

_“I swear on the soul of Ysgramor that if we live through this I will never eat another mushroom again.” His dry chuckle was met with a grin that looked more like a grimace as Rheissa worked her way around the dwelling collecting the same assortment of mushrooms they had been eating for days before pressing the meager harvest into his hands._

_It was easy to see that the smile ornamenting her features was far from genuine. The concern had not gone, but was instead curbed below the new disguise she had donned for his sake. Her deception was evident in the tight set of her shoulders while pulling their bedrolls to the dusty flooring and laboring to fashion a small fire. “If we get a little warmth in here it’ll feel like home,” the words ground out cheerfully as she endeavored to craft comfort midst of the abandoned space._

_Home. The word tugged at Vilkas’ lips through the vapor shrouding his mind. Never had he appreciated that he was missing such a thing. Jorrvaskr had always seemed home enough for him, its wooden walls boarding a lifetime of family and fellowship the likes of which could not be equaled … until Rhei. The warm glow he had once only coupled with the fondness for his shield siblings was nothing compared to the searing brilliance of his love for her. In her presence he felt home. Even wounded as he was within the cheerless stone ruins the warmth of his heart remained… simply because of the woman peering worriedly across the small fire pit._

_“Rheissa.” The rasp of his voice echoed off the stone walls. “I’ll be fine.”_

_Her unrest seemed to ease, if only for a moment, before she reached for him. “Come. I’ll keep watch while you rest.” When he tried to refuse he was met not by the loving gaze of his wife, but by the firm fervor of the Dovahkiin. “You will sleep or you will take a potion. Choose.”_

_His smile returned in the face of her wrath but he reluctantly made his way to the bedroll. ___

__\-----------------------------------_ _

__“So what do you think?”_ _

__Vilkas studied the open terrain before him, unsure of what it was he was supposed to be considering. The far-reaching plains of Whiterun stretched before them, Dragonsreach glowing merrily on its perch, while the frozen forests of the Pale sat behind. Pensively the large man drifted across the level parcel in search of the key that would unlock the source of his wife’s bewildering enthusiasm. After wandering the area with little result he finally submitted. “What am I looking at?”_ _

__Rhei sighed dramatically before motioning in broad sweeping gestures. “The land, the space.”_ _

__“Aye, there’s a lot of it.”_ _

__Another exasperated breath, this time accompanied by her eyes falling back into her head, as Rheissa pulled a note from her pack and thrust it at him urgently. Her impatience encouraged his smirk, causing his movements to be slow and deliberate while opening the missive._ _

__Skald, Jarl of Dawnstar, to Rheissa, his steadfast friend; grant the steading of Heljarchen Hall, south of Fort Dunstad near Giant’s Gap…_ _

__His eyes rose to find those of his wife wide and luminous with anticipation. “This is ours?” The astonishment in his voice appeared to be the response she’d been awaiting as her grin broke into a dazzling smile._ _

__“It is.”_ _

__“How?”_ _

__“Skald owed me a favor. Many favors.”_ _

__“Rhei, this wasn’t necessary.” Immediately Vilkas regretted his words as uncertainty began to creep into her gaze._ _

__“You don’t like it?”_ _

__“No! I mean, it’s not that I don’t… Yes, I…” Each word fanned the flames of doubt in Rhei’s face, prompting an inward string of curses as his frantic attempt to correct his blunder disarrayed all attempts at speech; his tongue became a string of knots in the wake of desperate reaction. Why could he not make her understand? The crestfallen aura trickling from his wife nearly broke Vilkas’ heart as he sighed and gently wrapped his arms around her._ _

__“This is important,” she muttered into his collar. “I only… I want to give you a home.”_ _

__A dry laugh bubbled up from his throat. “You own houses in three different holds.”_ _

__“I know, but... I just… I want this to be something that is ours. I want you to feel at home here.”_ _

__Desperately he reached for words. How could he make her understand that “home” was a thing that had been lost to him, that he had once thought his heart was whole until it wasn’t? That the day his lips found hers was the first time he could remember being at peace? How could she fathom the ache that settled in his chest while she was away and the overwhelming relief that came with her return? That the mere sight of her brought with it droves of happiness the likes of which he had never known?_ _

__“You think I’m not at home?”_ _

__“I-”_ _

__His lips halted all speech, words abandoned as she met his kiss. Pulling back, he could feel the familiar radiance in his heart burn brighter. Vilkas caught his wife’s gaze as he allowed all the love rooted so deeply in his being to rise. “Rheissa, I am home. And as long as you are in my arms I am home.”_ _

__“But-”_ _

__“Rhei, I love you. My home is the beat of your heart, the sound of your voice…” Her eyes began to glisten against the hand on her cheek. “There is no manor or castle in the world that can compare to that.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm thinking we are only a couple of chapters from the end, the main issue being that I'm running out of inspiration for one-shots! :/ I've got at least two more stories to go before the two-parter ending that is already finished. So if you've got anything specific you'd like to see, a specific quest touched upon, etc... feel free to ask!


	10. Outing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this one was a bear to write! I tried to do something a little different this one-shot so each ya get a taste of each Companion’s point of view. It was a real challenge but still fun. :)
> 
> This chapter is for Lidia! I know it’s probably not exactly what you were looking for but I hope ya enjoy nonetheless.

It was wearing a long absent mantle of contentedness that Vilkas found himself traveling amongst his shield siblings as they crossed the uneven valleys west of Whiterun. Not since the Silver Hand’s assault on Jorrvaskr had the pack hunted as one. The ancient mead hall stood nearly empty of late as each of its Companions found themselves scattered across Skyrim for one task or another. It had been far too long since they had all gathered together and Vilkas found himself relishing in the easy amity between them despite the recent distance and missing fellows, for both Athis and Njada had elected to remain at Jorrvaskr. Despite their reassurance that such demonstration was unnecessary, the Dunmer was eager to prove himself since taking up the vacant rank within the circle. “Someone must stay to protect our home,” he’d declared with firm conviction. And Njada had rejected their invitation with a scowl and irritated mutter regarding “training sessions.” Neither Rhei nor Vilkas had bothered to press, choosing instead to give the temperamental woman a wide berth. 

And so the remaining Companions marched toward the wooded crags of The Reach, the Jarl of Markarth entreating rthat they sort out a sizeable Forsworn bastion that had taken root. Rheissa had eagerly accepted the commission, claiming with a smile, “We’ll all go. It’ll be fun!” Vilkas grinned at his wife trotting ahead of them as she huddled closely with Ria and Aela. Rhei’s recent forays with the Dawnguard had come to be more of a vexation that she’d anticipated; conscripting supporters, researching Castle Volkihar, and the constant vampire attacks... Isran’s tasks coupled with her responsibilities to both Jorrvaskr and the Jarls had slowly begun to erode her own measure of happiness. To see Rheissa smiling without reservation was a gift of its own accord. 

“Look at that,” Torvar squinted at their female cohorts. “They’re plotting something.”

Looking ahead Vilkas could see all three women’s heads clustered together as they walked, whispered words flying hurriedly between them while Ria’s hands moved on their own accord, animatedly enriching whatever it was that elicited a jovial chortle from his wife.

“Did Rhei just giggle?” Farkas asked quietly. 

“That she did my friend.” Torvar pulled a long draw from his flask as their Harbinger laughed once more. “See? Plotting. Never seen any woman that hush hush about somethin and NOT have it go bad for the menfolk.” 

Aela glanced over her shoulder to smirk at her brothers, eliciting an uneasy mutter from Vilkas. “I think you might be right.”

 

\----------------------------------------

 

With their destination another half day’s travel ahead and daylight dwindling the party set camp. They’d journeyed with mercifully few hindrances aside from the occasional wildlife pest; unfortunately it was those pests that had relieved them of any game to speak of. Aela good-naturedly agreed to supply their group with dinner while the rest saw to their tents, weapons, and armor. The huntress sprinted through wood and reed, her every muscle singing at the wolf’s release. Too long she had restrained her true nature, forgoing her bestial spirit in favor of sword and bow. The guileless act of the hunt, not for coin or vengeance but survival, satisfied every instinct buried within. To take down an animal, to consume it’s flesh knowing that it’s life would sustain her own brought a totality of self that Aela had only sought to share with one other.

Even after the long years Skjor’s absence burned. The loss of him yet echoed through her heart as surely as the empty place at her side. Aela was not a sentimental woman; floundering in heartache was the path of the fool, of the weak. But on nights when the skies were clear and the cool winds carried the scent of prey and her heart raced with the rush of the hunt… She feared the experience would always be tainted by the bitter reminder of loss. Rheissa had offered to cure the huntress once. The bid had been made with noble purpose but truly her sister did not understand how cruel a proposition it was. To be denied an eternity in the Hunting Grounds, to never see Skjor again… Comfort came with the knowledge that upon her death they would be joined in Hircine’s mercy, forever rejoicing in the delights of His lands. She knew that her adopted family did not desire that eternity but it was what she dreamed of. 

Ultimately, once the sun had set and the moons had risen, Aela allowed pragmatism to overrule her own desires as she bore her kill back to where they’d erected their small camp. Farkas and Rheissa were engaged in an animated squabble concerning the benefits of heavy or light armor while Torvar interjected around mouthfuls of mead. 

“I can hear your steps from half a league off!” the Harbinger proclaimed with a wild swing of her arm.

“So?”

“So anyone who wants to kill you is going to know exactly where to aim.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Torvar, “but that’s why it’s good to have heavy armor! They can shoot all they want and it don’t make a difference.”

“But wouldn’t it be better for them to not know you’re there at all?”

Ria, in a feeble attempt to mediate, offered, “I suppose that’s true…” Aela couldn’t help but be aware of how closely Ria had positioned herself to Farkas, of the warmth in her face when she smiled at him… Poor girl. The lumbering oaf would never respond to such subtlety. She’d be far better off simply stripping down and slipping into his tent.

“That’s the coward’s way,” Farkas declared. “You should look your enemy in the eye when you kill him.”

“YOU try shooting four different targets when they’re rushing you all at once.” Rheissa’s grumble earned a soft chuckle from her husband sitting at her back, their fingers threading together as she unconsciously shifted closer to him. A sliver of jealousy dug deep as Aela watched, the sentiment born of her own grief and recognizing that such tenderness was lost to her. 

“All right you lot,” Aela called from the darkness as she dropped the small deer carcass near the back of her own tent. “If you want dinner you had better come clean it.”

Vilkas and Farkas both rose without a word and wandered to where the huntress waited. Farkas stopped just shy of the deer and studied his shield sister closely. “Are you alright?” his low voice grumbled quietly. “You were gone for a while.”

A simple question asked in earnest, yet more than enough to chase away her melancholy. She elbowed him gently, the corner of her lips rising in a smirk. “Of course I am ice brain. Don’t strain yourself.” He squinted with somewhat dubious disbelief but nodded all the same, returning her prod with one of his own. Aela smiled. It was not perfect, not the sort of affection that she had lost… but it was genuine. And sometimes that was enough.

 

\--------------------

 

The hours had been long but the small clutch of warriors were nearly victorious. What they had thought would be a fort or tower overrun with Forsworn had instead proved to be a many tiered ruin, their foes having inventively settled on each level granting them both an unobstructed view of the territory and the substantial advantage of higher terrain. With the resounding crash of the first trap triggered they’d converged, descending from above. Up and on the Companions had battled, Torvar, Ria, and the twins slowly advancing as an ruthless wave of fury breaking upon their enemies whilst Aela and Rheissa felled the archers looming above and any concealed perils lying in wait. And all through the fray Farkas tallied exactly how many times the heavy bulk of his armor had saved his life. After overpowering one particularly difficult opponent wielding a heavy maul the Nord looked to Rheissa and shouted, “I win!” his argument having been demonstrated before her very eyes.

And so on they fought. But creatures waiting atop the summit were unlike any they’d encountered before. It was that moment when Farkas realized that in his many travels across the face of Skyrim, all the contracts he had carried out for the Companions, every adventure he had ever embarked upon… he had never done battle with a hagraven. The two witches darted hither and yon hurling a barrage of fireballs, their shrieking tones causing the Nord’s skin to crawl as they called out their spells and derisions. Having no knowledge of their foes Farkas was utterly unprepared for the abrupt ranged onslaught, portions of his arm still numb where a rouge bolt of lightning caught him. As they advanced Ria endeavored to keep herself and her shield between the twins and the volleys of magic for which the two brothers had little defense. Torvar had taken a similar position safeguarding their archers from magical injury as arrows sailed overhead. The thin stone causeway extending over the river’s furious rapids made movement agonizingly slow as the fighters struggled to both keep their feet beneath them and watch their supernaturally inclined foes that faced no such hindrance. 

So focused were they on the witches that the group failed to notice the briarheart skirting the edge of the battle. It was only Aela’s cautioning shout that brought his attention to the right as Ria only just managed to raise her shield in time to deflect an frozen bolt. But the assaults on their front line were short lived as two arrows found purchase in the man’s flesh, drawing his attention to the archers. Now clear of the supplementary peril Farkas charged the two more powerful casters with Vilkas and Ria at his side. They battled as one, each fighter easily offsetting the steps of the others and adapting to conform to the tight space in which they found themselves; once inside the witches’ defenses they were able to easily fell the creatures. With a gargled shriek the last hagraven fell and Farkas turned to his shield siblings as all three exchanged triumphant sighs, victory bringing a sweeping kind of calm as the fervor of the fight released its unyielding hold. His arms burned with both injury and toil, his legs ached from the labors of the day… but it was what Farkas lived for. 

A bellow from their flank burned away what respite they’d found as three heads spun in unison. And as he turned Farkas took in three distinct events at once: the briarheart, formerly thought to have been overcome, falling gracelessly off Aela’s blade. The bottom of Torvar’s boots being swept over the falls. And the Harbinger, invoking the power of the Thu’um, hurling herself after their fallen comrade. For a handful of breaths no one moved, no one spoke, but all stared as the sound of the rapids thundered through their ears and disbelief echoed throughout. Ultimately it was Vilkas’ call ringing over the crashing waves that broke the spell. “Rhei!”

Aela made her way swiftly to the end of the precarious landing built above the overhang, her lithe form leaning in search of their missing companions. “There’s a pool at the bottom!” she called. “They may yet live!”

The twins were already moving, sprinting ahead of their female counterparts past the corpse laden landscape below. Farkas glanced worriedly at his brother as they descended another flight of stairs. Only twice in his memory had Vilkas ever worn his fear so openly: once in barely recalled despair, small bodies clutching one another to ward off the chill of a cage as tormented screams saturated the stagnant air… and once at High Hrothgar. Rounding the corner to find his brother’s naked panic as he clutched his dead wife had changed… something. Farkas had always relied on his brother. And to see him so broken… Perhaps it had unnerved him more than he’d realized because watching that same fear return in the face of this new calamity was making his stomach sour. Fear looked wrong on Vilkas’ face. Fury, mirth, tenacity, exhaustion, even grief… all of these he had seen his brother wear. But fear… it was wrong. 

As they mounted the steps leading to the reservoir the Nord prepared for the worst, steeling himself for the sake of both his brother and their shield sisters. But it was with devastating relief that he found such measures unwarranted as Rheissa emerged from the watery vault, dragging a scarcely alert Torvar with her. The two Nords crumpled to the ground in an exhausted sodden heap of limbs and gluttonous heaves for breath.

“Farkas?” The Harbinger gasped.

“Yeah?”

She grinned up at him, tugging at her now waterlogged armor. “Can you swim in that heavy breastplate?” He returned her smirk as she lightly nudged Torvar in his own dense chainmail. “I win.”

 

\-----------------

 

Ria couldn’t keep from chuckling at Rheissa’s heavy sigh from beneath her blanket. “Are you going to stay angry all night?” The silent figure that was Vilkas did not move from his roost near the fire, nor did he offer any retort, so she called again. “I said I was sorry.” Nothing. “If you don’t come to bed I swear on Ysgramor’s smallclothes that I will climb in bed with Torvar!” 

This prompted a reply, though not from the stubborn Nord at the fire, as their mildly drunken brother called from his tent, “My door is always open milady!”

All humor seemed lost on Vilkas as he stiffly rose and stalked into the distance, stopping just short of the stone stairway leading down to the rest of what remained of the Forsworn encampment. Her shield brother had been particularly bad-tempered since Rheissa and Torvar fished themselves from the pool at the bottom of Bard’s Leap. Despite the fact that Rhei’s ethereal Shout had safeguarded her from any bodily harm, thus enabling her to pull Torvar from a watery death, it seemed that the stunt would not be so easily forgiven. Moving slowly, still swathed in her blanket, Rhei exited their tent and dropped across from where Ria and Farkas worked to clean their weapons. “Can’t you talk to him?” she muttered to the large Nord. “You are his better half.”

“You scared him.”

“Hardly! I’ve survived longer falls than-”

“Doesn’t matter. You still scared him.”

Uncertainty colored her conceit before the Harbinger submitted, choosing to retreat into the darkness to sit beside her husband, their silhouettes outlined against Skyrim’s moonlit hills. Ria could not hear their whispered discussion but the tight set of Vilkas’ shoulders perhaps revealed more than the few words he had bothered to share. “Do you think they’ll be all right?”

Farkas’ eyes rose and he pondered for a moment. “Yeah,” he spoke eventually, “they’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?” The large man shrugged and returned to cleaning his blade.

Ria watched as Vilkas leapt to his feet and began furiously pacing, arms gesturing wildly around heatedly whispered words. She didn’t like it. She didn’t like any piece of their patchwork family being out of sorts. That Torvar was injured had already sowed seeds of irregularity. But to have conflict midst one another… Athis and Njada, for all their needling and brawls, had long ago learned to coexist in their perpetual state of passive aggression. But these two… “Vilkas looks really angry,” Ria murmured to her silent shield brother.

“He is.”

The woman shifted uncomfortably. “I think what Rheissa did was brave.” 

“It was.”

“She saved Torvar’s life.” Silence. “Do you… do you think she would have done that for any of us.”

“Without question.” The unwavering reply made Ria smile. She knew. It was something the Imperial had come to treasure concerning her adopted family. Living as a part of something so much bigger than yourself, bearing forth a legacy of such renown, to learn and fight with the best warriors in Tamriel… those reasons might have led her to Jorrvaskr. But knowing that any one of the hall’s tenants would readily throw themselves over a cliff if they thought it could save another... That was a precious gift of its own accord; something worth fighting and dying for.

“Dammit Rhei!!” Vilkas’ booming expletive brought every set of eyes to where they squabbled, but Ria was surprised that the display of anger brought a furious kiss in lieu of further fury.

“There, see?” Farkas asked. She did see. The violent whispers had subsided and she turned her eyes away, embarrassed to have witnessed such a private moment. Her gaze turned to Farkas and she wondered if perhaps it would take such a blatant display of affection to bring her into his sights. Wistfully she imagined slipping into his tent once the camp had stilled, a firm but gentle hand beckoning him to her… The bitter voice in her own ear vehemently banished the fantasy, yet another stoked the embers of hope ever glowing. Ria had the thought that perhaps Aela would have insight that she lacked. The huntress was confident; never had she seen the older woman falter, even in the face of Skjor’s death. It had never ceased to frustrate the Imperial that, despite her own fearlessness in battle, she had never once found the daring to confront a man outright. Years of training to kill men did little to assist in seducing them.

Slowly Rheissa moved away from where Vilkas sat. “Don’t worry,” she smiled as she disappeared into their tent. “Mama and Papa aren’t fighting anymore. No need to look so glum.”

It was with a muttered curse that Torvar rolled over and fell back asleep.

 

\-------------------

 

Torvar could never remember being so delighted to see the gates of Whiterun. Nearly plunging to his death and drowning under the weight of his own armor was enough to drain any man. The journey back to the city had taken a day longer than planned, his bound sword arm and fractured skull hampering the company’s progress considerably more than he’d like. By the gods did he need a drink…

As they traveled in silence the Nord meditated on their quest. He’d never thought much of the Harbinger. If he were honest with himself, something Torvar often avoided, he’d begrudged her rapid rise through the ranks of the Circle. He, Ria, and Njada had called Jorrvaskr home long before she! To see Aela and Skjor so taken with her from the beginning had raised his heckles consigned all manner of doubt upon her elevation to Harbinger.

But years of misgivings had vanished the moment he’d felt her hand pulling at his through the dark churning water. The only reservation that remained was how to repay her. For years Torvar had indebted himself to others; be it coin or favors it seemed he had continuously owed someone something. It was only by way of his endeavors at Jorrvaskr that had he succeeded at expunging those debts. Sitting at the bottom of that pool, sword arm useless, head spinning, armor weighing him down, the shadow of death looming… No, this was a debt that needed settling. The Harbinger might have dismissed it as finished but his life was his own. He would not owe it to another.

“Relax,” Aela had told him. “What else is family for?” THAT had given Torvar pause. He’d always appreciated the thought of having someone at your back; it meant twice as much woe to the person fool enough to strike. But he’d never given any consideration to the fact that in addition to extra bite a shield sibling also served as armor of a different sort, defending as well as attacking. It was not a thing he would forget again.

As the exhausted band of warriors entered the ancient mead hall Torvar quickly abandoned all worries of safety and settling debts, sure in the knowledge that they would still be there after a long sleep in his own bed. Lazily the Nord snatched a bottle of mead from the large table adorning the common room and proceeded down the steps to the living quarters. Without pausing to wonder why the barrack doors were closed he tossed them open… only to be greeted by a hail of frantically flailing limbs and curses from within. An earthen decanter shattered near his head accompanied by Njada’s curses. “GET OUT!!”

Fearing for his life Torvar retreated, slamming the heavy timber doors closed behind him. What had just happened? Was Njada in there… with Athis? No…

“Ha!!” Ria’s voice sounded from behind him as she called up the stairs, “It worked!” A medley of feminine groans and chuckles followed by the clink of coins made Torvar feel as if he’d missed something crucial… or at the very least comical. Ria answered his questioning gaze. “I told Rhei they’d pair off at the first chance. She didn’t believe it and now she owes me fifty Septims.”

Torvar let out a tired “humph” before pounding on the doors. “Athis you got your own room for that now!” No response was offered. “Well I’m takin your bed ya letcher!” Shaking his head the Nord uttered, “I told em. Bloody women…”


	11. Thieves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorta. I've been thinking about this fic lately and it was bugging me that I never posted the last couple chapters. So here's a new one and most of the previous chapters have undergone minor rewrites. I've got another planned before the two part ending. 
> 
> This prompt came from Tumblr: how would your DB deal with thieves in their home?

Hemnal’s eyes roamed the darkened landscape in search of threats, uncertainty fueling ardent fear as his sister deftly picked the lock of the grand manor’s door. The hour was both early and late, the sky having not yet begun to lighten and the birds held their song despite the dew swathed grass heralding dawn’s approach. 

“Are you done yet?” he whispered to her back.

“Stop!” Erisa growled without turning. “I’ve almost got it.” 

The stalwart lock heeded her word with an affirming “click” as the door eased inward. She turned, victory dancing clearly across her face. Always so sure, always certain of their course… Hemnal longed to suffer from half of her conviction. 

“We should leave,” he whispered again in the darkness.

“What? Why??”

“This is too much. This place… it’s too big.” 

“Isn’t that the point?” Truly it was; the hall’s lavish exterior was the thing that had caught their attention, the promise of greater treasures than any they’d ever seen drawing the pair up the hill from the road. But the closer they ventured the deeper unease had rooted in his stomach, making it feel sour and tense. It must surely belong to a Jarl. Perhaps the Thalmor? A sanctuary for mages? After all there was a tower… Hemnal could not claim to understand much, but two things had always proven true: enormous homes belonged to the powerful and that meant bad things for thieves who got caught. 

But as Erisa scowled at him it was clear she did not share his concern. “You can either follow me now,” she spat, whispered words heavy with anger, “or you wait here like a coward.” The prospect of allowing her to prowl the potentially dangerous property alone shook loose his resignations. Unwilling to be left behind Hamnal crept through the large double doors behind Erisa.

The pair skulked silently through the foyer. Candles left aflame through the night had burned low and cast a muted glow over the room’s many items. “There are a lot of weapons in here,” the Nord whispered as they moved, his eyes lingering on the great swords standing proudly in their mounts. A swift slashing motion from Erisa silenced him as they continued to move, soft soled boots shifting slowly so as not to wake any who might occupy the large home. A second set of doors stood, though thankfully unlocked. Quietly they slipped through, revealing a sizable common area. The large chamber’s hearth slumbered with the house’s occupants, its embers glowing without flame, granting the thieves blessed darkness. With a silent wave Erisa shifted to the right, reaching for yet a third set of double doors. They slipped into the room beyond. A quick inspection revealed no denizens as the two Nords stoood, Erisa lighting a small lantern to reveal a room nearly bursting with treasures.

“I told you!” Erisa breathed elatedly. “Look at all this!” Nearly every display and rack bore a weapon and every weapon radiated the subtle glow of magic. The two thieves broke apart, each filling their packs with whatever armaments would fit. Hamnal ogled a box full of purple gems the size of his fist before emptying it into his bag. A soft gasp from his sister drew his gaze back to where she had stopped in front of one of the larger displays, her hands ghosting across the glass surface as wide eyes examined what lay within. “Hamnal,” she breathed, gesturing him closer. “Come look.”

Hamnal, still moving as quietly as his plunder laden satchel would allow, moved to look at what had captured Erisa’s attention so utterly. Upon looking inside the case his breath stopped. “Is that…?” Leaning closer, his breath fogging the glass before him, Hamnal allowed every tale he’d ever heard from his father come back to him as the weapon of Ysgramor stared back at him. “I… that’s Wuthraad. I know it is.”

“It can’t be.” Erisa’s whisper sounded stretched, like she didn’t quite believe the words she was saying.

“It is.” The voice sounding from behind caught both Hamnal and Erisa utterly off guard as they spun, Erisa pulling twin daggers from her belt. The woman that had spoken stood in the open doorway, the lantern in her hand illuminating her casual interest as she leaned against the frame wearing nothing but a long tunic clearly meant for a much larger man. It was not the woman herself that terrified Hamnal, but the leisurely nonchalance she seemed to have for the armed intruders in her home. The words cascaded through his mind as all intelligible thought turned to instinct: dangerous, dangerous, dangerous, get out now, get far away… The dangerous woman surveyed the room, eyes lingering on what display cases were empty, before resting on the two intruders once more. Dangerous, dangerous… “I’d be careful with the staff from the big case,” she warned, a slight grin pulling at once corner of her lips. “Funny as it is, the Wabbajack is no toy.”

The three Nords stood in silence for a moment, all the while Hamnal’s heart thundered in his ears, his mind racing in a desperate bid for escape, for survival. “Please,” he blurted, earning a glare from his sister. “Please don’t kill us.”

The woman seemed genuinely surprised. “Kill you? Why would I kill you?”

Confusion began to swim amongst the fear raging through his veins. “B-because we’re thieves.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes we are!” He didn’t need to look at Erisa to know her ears were flush with indignation. “We have bounties on our heads in three holds!”

“That is the mark of desperation, not skill.” Neither sibling dared move as their host entered the room, lighting the room’s many candles as she examined them. “You’re young,” she remarked as she moved, eyes never leaving them. “No armor to speak of. Boots worn nearly through, threadbare clothes… iron weapons, daggers at that. They look as if they’ve not been sharpened since they were made.” She stopped in front of Erisa and gently removed the daggers from her grasp. Hamnal stared when his sister allowed the strange woman to examine her hands without resistance. “Rough hands, but not from weapon training,” she muttered, studying the many cracks and callouses adorning the girl’s fingers. “Farmer if I had to guess. I’m also guessing you haven’t eaten in some time.” A choked sound brought his eyes to Erisa’s and Hamnal was shocked to find them filled with tears.

She never cried. Not once. Not when she fell off her horse and broke her arm, not when the neighbor boy had called her names… and not when Mama and Papa had been cut down in front of them. Erisa had held him as he sobbed against her while bandits ransacked their home, Mama and Papa’s bodies still cooling in the crimson snow an arm’s length from them. She’d looked after him as best she could, making their way from city to city, stealing whatever might feed them from day to day. Many nights they went to bed hungry or cold and she had never faltered. But now, in the face of this stranger’s unexpected calm, wet trails of sorrow lined down her cheeks.

The woman gestured behind her where the hearth that had once smoldered was being tended by a large man whose eyes looked heavy with sleep. A girl who looked to be not much older than Hamnal himself peered out from behind the man, warily eyeing their new guests. “Why don’t we have some breakfast and see what we can do for you?”

\-----------------------------------

It was not until after the sky had begun to lighten that the household had returned to rest. Erisa and Hamnal slept soundly in the large spare bed across from Sofie and Lucia, their bellies more full than they had probably ever been. Rheissa looked over the sleeping pair and for a moment was glad that they had chosen to break into her home. Now instead of a few handfuls of valuables they would find help. It had taken some time before they’d been willing to share their tale, reluctant to confess to the thefts they’d committed in the name of survival for fear of punishment. But after some reassurance and several plates of sausages, bread, and cheese the two had opened up completely. 

Satisfied that there was little more to do Rhei silently closed the door and returned to her bed where Vilkas lay waiting. “Finally asleep?” his question rose from the blankets as she slipped in beside him.

“Aye.” She curled beneath his burly arm and found rest on her husband’s broad chest. “This will be the first good sleep for them in a long while. Probably the first time Erisa has truly slept since their parents…”

“I know.”

A heavy silence blanketed them as both adults considered the plight of the children below; four innocents orphaned by tragic circumstance. Rheissa was grateful that Sofie and Lucia seemed to have regained some of their innocence as thoughts of surviving another night were replaced by more common childhood troubles. Her daughters’ perseverance kindled the hope that Hamnal and Erisa could do the same.

“What is it love?”

Rheissa allowed a sad glower to pull at her lips. “They’re so young,” she whispered mournfully. “Too young.”

“Aye. But weren’t Farkas and I? Weren’t you?” The question added weight to the already heavy morning. “There will always be children to pay the price for war. But sometimes there are blessings in its wake. Jergen brought us to Jorrvaskr. Your sister did for you what Erisa has done for Hamnal.” Rhei nodded, considering his words. It was true their stories had reached rightful conclusions. But she knew that such endings were rare. 

As if reading her thoughts Vilkas let out a huff and pressed a kiss to her brow. “What are we going to do with the two of them?”

For the first hour after hearing their tale Rhei had committed herself to raising the two vagabond children. But once practicality had its say she realized the impossibility. It was difficult enough raising two children amidst the chaos their lives as fighters brought. To add two more…

“Tomorrow I’ll take them to Windhelm.”

“Windhelm? Why?”

“The Shatter-shields are still mending from what they’ve lost. But Tova is a good woman. I think they would be good for her.” Rhei allowed herself to relax fully into the bed as sleep pulled at her eyes. “Divines willing some good will come of this.”


	12. Vengeance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pulled from a prompt on the KinkMeme: So should you choose to eliminate the Dark Brotherhood instead of join it Babette is mysteriously missing. I can't be the only one that thinks she'll be pissed when she comes back and finds what happened. What I want to see is her reaction, and how she takes her revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the writing of this chapter I have discovered that I absolutely without fail... cannot write action. I've been nitpicking it like crazy and finally decided that if I didn't stop it would never get posted. So here we go.
> 
> Two part ending coming after this.

Gone.

Gone.

Gone.

Taken.

Taken.

The words echoed again and again through a dense veil of panic and rage as Rheissa rode her mount hard across the timbered knolls of Falkreath hold. The horse was near dead, its breaths drawn laboriously beneath her. But the foam lathering at its mouth went as unnoticed as Erik’s fearful gaze or the rain that pelted them as they rode. The only thing that mattered resonated within.

Gone.

Taken.

There had been no preparing for what had awaited them as Serana and Rheissa crested the hill leading to Heljarchen. The memories were greyed by fear and the fierce pounding of her heart, memories of vampires swarming her home. Oriella being fed upon in the dining hall. Erik’s unconscious body discarded on the staircase. The scent of blood wafting through every room.

Vilkas gone.

Children taken.

Shaking Erik awake, forcing a potion down his throat. The steward’s anguished apologies. “The vampires,” he stammered as he struggled to stand. “They said it was revenge.”

“That’s not possible.” Serana looked to Rheissa desperately. “My father-”

“They’re not yours,” Rhei had ground around clenched teeth as she angrily nudged a corpse with her boot. “These are simpler. Not Volkihar.” 

“They said someone was waiting for you, that you’d murdered her family.” Erik’s eyes filling with sorrow, the only clear memory in a sea of terrified fog as he whispered, “They said she’d take your family in turn.”

Gone.

Taken.

“Get Oriella to the Temple of Kynareth in Whiterun,” Rhei growled to Serana as she refilled her quiver and marched back to where their mounts waited. “Then go to Arcadia. We'll need more potions.” The vampire had not questioned, only moved the barely conscious bard to her horse and moved toward the city’s distant silhouette.

“Let me help!” Erik pleaded. “I failed them. Let me redeem myself!” The Dragonborn hadn’t been of a mind to argue. And so the two Nords rode hard into the southern forests. With each league behind them Rheissa felt her fear replaced by something stronger and far more dangerous: rage. Bright, blinding, white hot, all-consuming wrath coursed through every limb. Was this what Vilkas felt as they had run toward Driftshade in their crusade to avenge Kodlak? When they had ripped throat and limb from the dwindling remains of the Silver Hand had he felt the same dizzying righteous fury? 

An assault by vampires as they neared the green wooded gate of Falcreath heralded their approach to the sanctuary. Through her frenzied haze Rhei did not feel the knick of their blades off her armor or the drain of their magic. One after another they fell to the ground, her arrows and Erik’s sword cutting a bloody swathe through the small group. When they finally reached the skull faced door Rhei dismounted, keeping her bow drawn. She turned to Erik and for the first time took note how tense and worried and utterly afraid he appeared. 

“Wait here.”

“No!” The boy nodded at the ebony door behind her. “I’m coming. I can help.”

“Listen to me. I need you need to wait here. Stay out of sight. If an unfamiliar face comes out before I do I want you to slay them.” The request seemed to surprise him, his eyes widening in the dim light of morning. “These assassins are skilled. Do not give them the opportunity to attack first or retreat. If any make it past me it means I am dead. If that happens go to Whiterun, rally the Companions. Tell them what happened.” Her voice lowered. “And tell them to come back here and kill everything in this place.” The seriousness of her voice and gravity of her words finally seemed to settle as the blonde man sucked in a breath. But he nodded all the same.

“Good luck Rhei.”

\-----------------------------------------------

Her footsteps, though soft and silent, seemed to echo through her ears in time with her racing heart. Now on the threshold of discovering what had become of her family the rage was slowly being tainted by doubt. What would she do if it were too late? Images flooded her mind unhindered: Vilkas’ throat slit, silver eyes staring lifelessly into the void. Sofie and Lucia lying still and pale, small bodies utterly drained of blood. 

Stop it!

Making her way to the antechamber she found no evidence anything had been touched since her last gruesome visit, save that the door leading toward the bedchamber sat closed. She stepped closer, ear pressed to the wooden surface… only to feel relief cleanse her doubt like a burning fire as the murmur of small voices reached her. Slowly opening the door found not only Sofie and Lucia but also third child all roped together in the small room. “Mama!” Lucia cried, joy lighting her tear stained cheeks. 

Rhei surged forward, planting relieved kisses atop her daughters’ brows. “Thank the Divine you’re safe,” she murmured. The dagger at her belt easily freed the children of their bindings.

“Mama, where’s-?”

Rheissa shushed her frightened daughter and listened down the blackened hallway for any who might’ve overheard. “Who did this?” she whispered.

“A man tied us up and locked us in here,” Sofie sniffled. “He’s dressed all funny.”

“Funny how?”

“He has a pointed hat. And a red coat.”

The fury was rising in her chest again as a rushing tide. “Like a jester?” Two heads nodded in unison and Rhei had to repress a curse. She knew that fool. She’d thought him to be an unfortunate pilgrim in need of help. Vilkas had said otherwise, insisted that the man smelled wrong. If he had hurt her husband after she’d helped him… 

A low whimper turned Rheissa’s attention to the third unfamiliar child sniffling on the bed. “What is your name?” she asked gently. 

“Babette,” the small voice replied around sniffles and tears. 

“How did you get here sweet girl?” 

“My mama and papa were killed by the Dark Brotherhood. Those vampires brought me here. They’re going to eat me, I just know it!”

“No they’re not. You are safe now.” Rhei turned and looked gravely between her daughters. “Listen closely. I need to find this jester and your papa. Erik is just outside the door. You will go out first, Babette will follow right behind you. Do whatever he says, do you understand?”

Three heads nodded solemnly as she pointed them toward the large door. Bolstered by finding her children alive, Rhei turned and crept deeper into the sanctuary. A few silent strides, arrow knocked in her bow, placed her in the large common area with only the waterfall’s churning to drown out her own heartbeat. She had almost reached the open doorway when a manic giggle echoed through the chasm, its menacing tenor rebounding off every niche and crevasse. “What is it that you seek Dragonborn?” a whisper echoed. “Perhaps something that was stolen from you?” Rhei’s eyes narrowed as she turned in search of the source of the voice. But her stalked seemed undisturbed. “Oh you will not find Cicero until he wishes.” The echo infuriated her as she turned again, still seeing nothing. “I have a gift for you…”

Sharp pain bloomed unexpectedly as a blade found its way into her back. Rheissa turned, ready to end her assailant… only to see Lucia, eyes unfocused, a small hand clutching the dagger now sheathed in blood. “Lucia,” Rhei breathed as she dropped her bow and grasped the girl’s shoulders. No response met the child’s gaze as she swung the dagger again. One raised hand easily stopped the assault and Rheissa pulled the weapon from her grasp. “Lucia, stop this! Look at me!”

Another pain, this one in her shoulder, as an arrow found its way into her flesh. Rhei hissed, reaching to pull out the offending weapon… only to find darkness edging its way across her vision. Cold fear washed over her as she fell, a high pitched giggle chasing her into the darkness.

\------------------------------------------

When she woke it was to the familiar sound of a crackling fire in the hearth. But the heat brought no comfort as Rhei fought against the heavy tide keeping her eyelids closed. With more effort than she cared to admit she forced them open, glowering until the room became recognizable. The dining hall swam into focus. They had deposited her on the long table occupying the space and it was with an abrupt dose of fear that she discovered her limbs were utterly useless. She struggled to rise only to find her body unwilling to obey.

“Oh! Mean terrible thing is awake!” a high pitched voice sounded from above. Rheissa searched to find a face she recognized…

“You…” she slurred, working the numbness from her tongue. “You were travelling with your mother...”

“Oh yes, Mother is so lonely. So so lonely. Lonely since you killed her children!” The manic jester leapt down the stairs two at a time, a gleaming blade held aloft in one hand. He stopped beside the table to glare. “But you will join them soon,” he growled as the blade bit into her cheek. “Mother will have her revenge.”

“Me first.” The small voice sounded from a place Rhei couldn’t see.

“Yes yes, the un-child is so demanding.” 

The sounds of small footsteps heralded the approach of the little girl… Babette. But this was not the terrified child Rheissa had discovered bound and tearful. This thing’s eyes were as black as the darkest pits of Oblivion, an aura radiating from her that spoke of power and evil. She moved with the confidence of one who knew how to control, to manipulate. By the gods, how had she not seen it before?

So focused was Rhei on the small creature before her that she missed the motion to her side. A strike from a heavy hand knocked her head into the wood beneath. Her vision swam, eyes narrowing… on the shape of Vilkas staring down at her. But the same lifeless gaze that had plagued her daughter plagued her love as his silver eyes stared through her to the floor of the cavern. “Vilkas,” she breathed, trying desperately to coax some response from her heavy limbs. “Vilkas, look at-” Another strike, this one splitting her lip. Rhei snarled at the little creature that now smirked around pointed fangs. “Let him go demon!”

“I don’t think so. You see, he reminds me so much of someone I lost.” Vilkas mindlessly wandered toward the little girl and stopped beside her, one of the creature’s small hands reaching out to affectionately grasp his arm. “You killed my wolf. My Anjborn. When I returned my hunt... the floor was covered in his blood.” Rheissa in scathing silence as the child stalked around the table. “And here, up the stairs? That’s where you murdered Nazir.” Babette paused beside Rhei, the blankness of her eyes in her childlike features giving the Nord woman chills. “You shot him in the throat as he was rising from his bed.” Her face hardened into a snarl. “He couldn’t even draw his weapon!” 

“I imagine he had more of a chance than some of your victims.” The words left her mouth before she could stop them, earning Rhei another blow to the head from the puppet that was her husband. Her vision swam but in her bid to move she felt the invisible weights on her body beginning to weaken.

“Can we kill her NOW?!” the shrill voice of the jester sounded.

“You’re in my sanctuary now Keeper. You’ll do as I say.”

“Poor poor Cicero. Bound to the will of a devious unchild. Poor poor Mother will never have her revenge.” 

“The Dark Mistress will get her due. Once I’ve had mine.” Babette turned again to where Rhiessa watched. “I’m going to turn your lover into my slave for all of eternity. When he’s done draining your children of every drop of blood he will peel away your flesh one strip at a time.” Her voice lowered as Cicero giggled. “And then, maybe, if you beg me… I’ll let you die.”

Spying the damned jester in the corner, a gleam in his eye as he brandished his knife to where both of her children stood motionless, Rheissa decided that waiting was no long an option. Calling on the thu'um Rhei turned and unleashed a wreathe of flame across the vampire and her accomplice. The heat drove them away from the table as Rhei rolled off its surface and fought to get to her feet. Babette hissed, throwing herself behind the unresponsive children. “Help! Stop her my love!” Vilkas snapped to attention, throwing himself at Rheissa without hesitating. Husband and wife careened across the floor, Rhei’s arms batting away his grasping hands in a desperate attempt to waylay him without causing harm.

“Stop!” Rheissa cried as she used the nearly dead weight of her legs to pin him beneath her. “Vilkas, stop this! I-” She grunted, his muscular arms easily pulling her up and reversing her fragile hold on him. His hands dove frantically for her neck. Rheissa grunted in a vain attempt to kick him away. The power of the thuum was still welling within her, another shout only moments from breath, but his hands around her throat stopped whatever air might have given it voice. She tried desperately to fight, to push, to get her love away. But years of wielding enormous weapons had given him a steel grip as he squeezed harder and the corners of her vision began to darken. Rhei tried to say his name, lips only managing to make the shape where no air could escape. Is this how her life would end? At the hands of her unwilling lover?

A loud crash and battle cry from the other room found the hands around her throat removed. Gasping greedily, Rhei whispered the words that would give her respite. Her physical form faded to that of a phantom as she ghosted away from the battle trying desperately to catch her ragged breath and will her barely feeling legs to motion. Once safely beyond the chaos she reformed and was able to fully see the source of her salvation.

Farkas wrestled with his twin, two sets of strong arms intertwined as the larger fought to subdue his mindless slave of a brother. From where she knelt Rhei could see Babette watching the assault from behind Sofie and Lucia. As the siblings struggled on the stone ledge Aela chased the demented jester who pranced around the Nord woman with aggravating dexterity. Her blade swept past him once, then again as his daggers landed small one cut after the other. Her curses echoed over the sounds of battle as she fought to get closer. One twist, another turn… and a dodge in the wrong direction cut Ciscero deeply, a dark gash blooming across his chest. But the wound did little to slow him as his dagger dug deep across Aela’s thigh. 

Rheissa dug to the bottom of her reserves to pull forth a shout rarely used, one that been honed in the very cavern in which they battled. The assassin doubled over, cut causing much more hurt with his life draining from him… A swift strike from Aela and the jester called Cicero fell back in a growing pool of his own blood, pleas to his mother the last words on crimson lips. 

Turning her attention back to the room’s other occupants found Vilkas rising to his feet from where his brother had apparently deposited him. Babette batted her eyelashes innocently at where Farkas glowered. “Ooh,” she said, black eyes narrowing on the bigger twin. “I like you. You’ll match my new family splendidly.” 

“I don’t think so.” Serana’s voice echoed around them as she descended the dark stairway behind the two Companions. Two vampires exchanged centuries old glares before the elder’s voice tisked disapprovingly. “You’ve been very naughty little one.”

“Help me my love! Kill these intruders who threaten your-”

“That’s quite enough.” With a raised hand a red haze overcame Vilkas. He waivered on his feet for a moment and Rhei felt her heart seize in her chest… before he turned and seized Babette around the middle, pinning her arms in place. “Fetch some rope,” Serana directed Erik who stood behind her with wide eyes. “And a burlap sack for her head. Just to be safe.” 

As Erik bound the child Aela moved to where Rhei was struggling to stand. “Are you alright?” she asked as she helped the prone Dragonborn to her feet.

“I will be.” But Rheissa doubted the words as she examined her family with dread in her heart. Vilkas’ eyes remained dead, his eyes fixed on the stone walls without interest while Sofie and Lucia were as limp puppets slouched against the wall. Only the rising of their chests and flushed cheeks indicated that they lived at all. 

Serana moved to stand beside her. “Erik said you were dead,” she stated, studying her human friend.

“I very nearly was.” Rhei whispered, her eyes never leaving her husband and children. “Can you save them?” It was not simply the bruises on her throat causing the question to sound choked. 

Serana studied the unresponsive trio. “The girl’s control is crude. There’s no way to reverse it and if we kill her-”

“They’ll die.” Rhei didn’t need the explanation. She’d seen it before: an entire mine full of souls enslaved to the will of vampires turned to a mine full of corpses when she’d slain their master. She’d hoped to free the enthralled and had been heartbroken when she’d failed.

“So how do we fix it?” came Farkas’ low growl. 

Serana’s lips pursed in concentration. “I can keep my hold over them until we get the little one away. Once she’s out of reach I can release my control and their minds should be their own.”

“And you know that will work?”

“No. But it may be the best chance we have.” 

Despair ripped through her. Rheissa fought the urge to tremble, to scream, to sob, to shout down the heavens with her wrath. But succumbing to her grief would not help her family. And she refused to submit to her fear. Not when there was hope. She turned to where Erik held the little Breton. “What should we do with her?” he asked hesitantly, eyes never leaving the dangerous predator in his grasp.

“Take her to Fort Dawnguard. Isran can do what he wants once we know we don’t need her.” 

Serana leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “You know Isran will kill her.”

“Then the blood will be on his hands. I want no part of it.”

\---------------------------------------------------

Farkas eyed his brother from the back of his horse. Vilkas rode dutifully, eyes straight ahead, back rigid… because Serana demanded that he do so. As the vampire’s thrall he traveled in silence as the group made their way back to Heljarchen. Sofie and Lucia were no better, Sofie’s head bobbing lifelessly from where she was secured in front of him. 

Worry ate at Farkas like a skeever at a corpse as his hold tightened on his adopted niece. What would happen if they couldn’t be recovered? What would he do if the vampire had destroyed his brother? A worried glace to where Rhei rode ahead of them made his gut churn. And despite his own fears Farkas had no doubt that if Vilkas and the girls did not return to themselves there would be consequences. And every vampire in Skyrim would burn.

As the party rounded the last little hill Serana dismounted. Nightfall had found the vampire’s hood discarded leaving nothing to hide the glowing of her eyes in the darkness. Her eyes unnerved Farkas. The rest of them climbed from their horses in solemn silence, lining the subjects of their distress against the side of the house, and stepping away. 

“What now?” Aela broke the quiet of the night air.

“I’m going to withdraw my influence from Vilkas first. If he’s still under the little one’s control he may attack.” Serana turned worried eyes to Rhei. “If he does-”

“I’ll put him down.” The women assembled looked to Farkas in surprise. “My brother would not want to live under a vampire’s will.” Aela and Serana looked to Rhei, looking for some objection. But the Dragonborn offered none, her gaze lingering on her despondent family.

“He’s right,” she rasped.

"Rheissa-”

“Just… finish this.”

Farkas looked to Aela but she simply nodded in approval. “Very well,” Serana murmured before stepping to stand in front of Vilkas. Tension swelled between the three Companions watching. Farkas realized distantly, watching the vampire work her spell on his twin, that his sword was already in his hand. The blade was a comfort, a familiar weight grounding him. Aela shared his fears as one hand grasping the hilt of her own weapon while the other rested steadying on Rhei’s arm. 

The red haze surrounding Vilkas began to recede. He swayed, eyes blinking, before falling heavily to his knees. Rhei’s breath caught. Farkas’ heart stuttered. Rheissa tried to move toward her husband but Aela’s hand kept her still. “Wait,” the huntress warned, the knuckles on her blade turning white. 

The ragged gasping of Vilkas’ breaths was the only sound penetrating the cold night air as Farkas waited for some sign, some indication that his twin was restored… Silver eyes raised and searched the crowd gathered. “Rheissa?” he gasped, trying to support himself on trembling hands buried in the snow. A sob tore from the Dragonborn before she threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder.

Farkas couldn’t hear what words passed between husband and wife. But he didn’t need to know. Such things were not for his ears. All he knew was the sweeping relief in his bones and the rapturous joy sweeping through his middle. And as the couple moved to hold their frightened children Farkas thanked whatever gods were listening that his family was whole once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a reconciliation sort of chapter between Vilkas and Rhei sort of in the works. Not sure if I want to mess with finishing it or not. :P


	13. Madness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the first chapter I ever wrote for these two for a Kinkmeme prompt.
> 
> There is one more chapter after this one to wrap everything up.
> 
> ...I'm sorry in advance.

The woman sitting before the hearth was not the dragonborn of legend. That woman had been stunning; clear eyes that shone with intelligence and ferocity, a quick wit and a proficient warrior. She had been fierce but fair, always alert, always ready… But the frail and broken thing that sat before him reflected none of those things. Her toned body had withered, eyes clouded and distant while they gazed upon sights that she alone could see. Sometimes she hummed absently to herself, sometimes she shrieked as unknowable voices whispered to her.

It hurt him to see her so far from herself. Vilkas had been there from the start, from the first moments of missing memory, when she would ask him to repeat words he’d never spoken. Little by little she’d waned before him. The people of Whiterun knew. How could they not? As their beloved Thane sank further into Sheogorath’s clutches…

Nineteen years! He had not even been graced two decades with his love before her mind gave her over to madness. When they realized he had raged, prayed, sought healers… anything to keep his slipping hold on her. She’d fought for a time, spending hours in their room attempting to calm the storm raging within by the force of her will. But it was not enough. Nothing they tried had ever been enough.

“Rheissa?” Vilkas knelt beside his wife as she continued to stare blankly into the flames dancing before her. “Can you hear me love?” She neither moved nor spoke and Vilkas could not help but feel relieved. Days of peace were few for him and his beloved. There would be no flailing, no screaming, no tears or cries of torment. 

And above all else she would not speak to him. Those sporadic bittersweet moments of lucidity brought the most ruthless form of torment. Her eyes would fill with tears of anguish and she would apologize again and again, begging forgiveness for being his burden, for leaving him alone to contend with her madness. He knew her pain and knowing made his own grief harder to bear.

His wife was nearly dead that day. And his relief paled in comparison to his shame. 

\-----------------------------------------------------

Waking to an empty bed was not uncommon any longer; long gone were the days of soft caresses and passionate lovemaking. But the sense of emptiness that complemented the vacancy awoke him fully. Vilkas listened only long enough to know that his wife was not in Breezehome. 

She had wandered before only to be brought back by neighbors or guards when she’d become volatile; they would offer sad smiles varnished with sympathy and be on their way. Only once had Rheissa become so deranged that they contained her in the dungeons of Dragon’s Reach. That particular arrangement had not lasted long once Vilkas raged to Jarl Olfina.

“I will not stand for this!” the woman had howled. The guard who had been fool enough to imprison the former Harbinger trembled under her wrath. “The next time you lay a hand on this woman it will be you in the dungeons! Do you understand?”

Vilkas did not bother with his armor as he left the small house, wondering idly where Rheissa had found herself this time. He had not yet reached the market when the sound of a scuffle reached his ears, accompanied by Rhei’s curses echoing off the stone walls. The Nord took the stairs to Gildergreen two at a time and found Farkas and a guard attempting to contain his thrashing wife. “No! Stop!” she was shrieking. “I have to kill him! The Night Mother! She needs me to-”

“Rheissa!” At the sound of Vilkas’ voice the crazed woman stopped her struggling and looked to him for help.

“Vilkas, stop them! Please! Help me kill him!”

Farkas gave his brother a tortured look. “We found her creeping around the Battle-Born’s wielding a dagger. She keeps raving about the Night Mother.”

“Do not speak her name!!”

“Let her go brother.” Rheissa threw herself into her husband’s arms as she whispered frantically.

“Thank you love. I knew you’d understand. Let’s kill him. Sithis will be pleased! We will please Him and the Night Mother and they will stop the whispers!”

“Rheissa, stop.” Vilkas pulled his wife away by the shoulders and firmly met her gaze. “You don’t belong to the Dark Brotherhood.”

“The family is scattered to the winds, destroyed by a traitor’s hand-”

“No Rhei, YOU destroyed the Dark Brotherhood years ago. Remember?”

“Yes. The Listener has betrayed the Mother and now She wants vengeance!”

“Rheissa!” Vilkas shook her once, hard. “You are not the Listener! You are the Dragonborn!” For one brief moment it seemed as if his words had reached her. Rheissa’s manic stare softened and her rigid frame eased… But the moment was gone as she plummeted to her knees and covered her ears, shrieking and rocking in place. 

Vilkas sighed heavily as he pulled a small vial from his belt and held it to her mouth. Despite her madness Rhei fought, hitting and pushing his hands away. “No! Don’t make me go back to the darkness! NO!” The exhausted Nord looked to his brother who needed no other prompt. As gently as he could Farkas held her arms at her sides. Her panic only seemed to deepen as she fought to kick him away. “No! Please!!” The moment the clear potion touched her tongue the woman went limp in Farkas’ arms, head lolling forward lifelessly. Guilt tugged at Vilkas as he scooped his wife into his arms.

“That was the last of it,” he grumbled to his brother. “Please ask Arcadia for another few vials? She’ll know the one.” Farkas nodded stiffly before turning toward the market, leaving his brother to carry his precious burden alone.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Vilkas enjoyed watching Rheissa sleep. Some nights when her slumber was peaceful, the deep lines of fear and pain smoothing, he could pretend for a few precious moments that she was herself again. But he found no such luck as she whimpered and murmured in broken sentences, the potion preventing any flailing that might injure her. He often wondered what she dreamed. Did she remember her friends? All the people she had helped? Or their children? Sofie had been to visit not long ago. She had witnessed one of the bittersweet moments of lucidity as her mother wove bony fingers through her hair and both women wept. The girls had left home years ago but never seemed to play a part of any delusions. 

It seemed the one constant, despite many numerous displays of torment, was him. Rheissa would always remember him, could always distinguish the sound of his voice above all others. And in every fantasy her mind invoked she loved him still. That reality cut as much as it healed, serving as a constant reminder of what they shared. And it was why he would not abandon her. High King Ulfric had offered her a home in the Blue Palace and had reassured him that she would be well cared for, that she would want for nothing. But he couldn’t, not while some semblance of the woman he loved existed within her. Vilkas could not bring himself to abandon his wife.

Rheissa moaned softly from the bed as her eyes opened sluggishly. Slowly her searching gaze combed the room before settling on her husband sitting stationary in the chair beside their bed. “Vilkas?”

“Yes my love?”

“I… I’m so sorry.” Her broken apology sent shears across his heart as he quickly moved to sit on the bed beside her.

“No Rhei, there is nothing to be sorry for.”

Agony splayed across her face as the memories of her madness assaulted her again. “Oh by the Divines,” she breathed. “I nearly-”

“No Rheissa, you didn’t.” Vilkas gently brushed her hair away from her face, etching every familiar expression onto his heart. It had been so long since he last heard her true voice…

“I tried to kill someone...”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could.” She could. Vilkas long feared the day that she would finally draw on the thu’um to disable an illusory adversary. His wife was dangerous. They both knew it.

Rhei’s hand rose slowly, still heavy from the potion’s effects, and gently found its perch on her husband’s cheek. His eyes dipped closed as the warmth of her hand caressed his skin and he reveled in her touch. “I can’t do this anymore Vilkas,” she whispered brokenly. “I can’t live like this.”

Fear joined the sorrow already thrashing in the man’s heart as his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Vilkas…” Rheissa’s eyes filled with tears. “Please… kill me.”

Disbelief and revulsion fired through his every nerve. Vilkas found himself on his feet, furious tremors lacing across his body. “No!” he snarled. “How can you ask me this?!”

“I want to die as myself,” she whispered. “If I don’t Sovengarde will be lost to me. If I die in the throes of madness…” Vilkas slowly moved back to the bed as his mind raced. He had not considered… Would she be left to the Daedric prince upon her death? The thought of having earned his sanctuary in Sovngarde only to lose her to Oblivion… He could think of nothing worse.

But how could he? By Ysgramor, how could he kill his wife? The strongest person he had ever known, who had stood beside him unflinchingly despite the countless moments of sorrow and doubt. She had never faltered, never forsaken him. Before her there had been no thought to give his heart to another so completely. And to have that love returned… it was unimaginable. And Vilkas knew that if he were the one to take her life he would be forever changed; it would surely destroy something precious within him. But could he deny her Sovngarde? Could he exist in an eternity without her in exchange for a few more years of stolen moments between bouts of madness?

“Please my love,” she begged as she reached out to touch him again, tears flowing freely down her face. “Please don’t leave me to Him…”

Gathering his frail wife in his arms, the broken man pulled his dagger from his belt. He found his breath came in only ragged gasps as he tried to speak. “Rheissa…I…”

She smiled sadly around the tears and gently placed a heavy hand over his trembling one. “I love you Vilkas.”

“As I love you.” When their lips met there was no fire, no passion… only love. The gentle warmth of the love they had shared and the sorrow of years lost. 

The blade slid effortlessly into her, forcing a soft gasp from her lips still pressed to his. The weak determination that had adorned her features faltered and already he could see her eyes dimming, the bitter agony of the last two years draining from her as surely as the blood that stained his hands. Vilkas pulled her close, his own tears finally finding release as he breathed in the sweet scent of her once more. And from her lips came only a trembling whisper: “Thank you love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original prompt was this: After years of being the Dragonborn - winning wars, fighting the most dangerous beasts, dealing with Daedric princes, being pushed and jostled into Oblivion and beyond - poor DB is now mentally ill. S/he forgets people, goes into crazy fits, violently assaults random people, and more. But the worst part about it is that s/he sometimes regains his/her mind and s/he KNOWS s/he's insane and is devastated. And the DB's spouse is still dedicated to him/her. They're willing to stay by his/her side until the day the DB finally gives in.
> 
> I thought the idea was interesting. Think about it: the Dragonborn absorbs dragon souls, encounters all variety of daedra, the Wolf Queen, the drama with Miraak, and who knows what else potentially messing with their mind. It seems very plausible that so much strain on a person's mind would wear them down after years. And given how the afterlife works in Elder Scrolls... well, I just couldn't see Rhei wanting to spend her eternity in the Shivering Isles.


	14. Waiting

It felt as if she’d been waiting forever. Sometimes she paced. Sometimes she counted the bones of the great bridge. Sometimes she gazed up at the vibrant sky and stars, imagining familiar constellations that were no longer present. There were moments when restlessness and disquiet would take hold and she would wander into the grass and trees below. But fear of slipping past her quarry without notice would inevitably drive her back to her perch at the head of the bridge. So she watched, eyes always scanning the now intimately familiar landscape. Many had come, some she recognized, but none that could convince the heartsick Nord to cease her vigil. 

Tsun gave her a sidelong glance and tried, as he had many times before, to ease her trepidation. “You know he will come. Why will you not await him in the hall? You needn’t exile yourself.”

The woman could only shake her head as a sad smile graced her lips. “I have seen the glory of Shor’s Hall. But it would be empty without him at my side.” The great guardian sighed heavily, but left her once more to her solitude.

It was not long after Tsun’s well-meant attempt at dissuasion that a familiar figure appeared on the hillside. And while it was not the form she had been hoping for it was enough to cause her heart to leap unbidden into her chest. A million questions rose to her lips but only a single name reached them.

“Farkas!” The woman scurried down the bridge and up the hill to meet the lumbering man. His deep laugh echoed through the valley as he caught the running woman in his arms and swung her around in a circle. Tears born of bittersweet circumstance burned her eyes as he set her gently on her feet. “How?” she rasped, wiping the offending tears away.

“Frost troll. Damn thing got me right across the throat.”

A tearful chuckle lurched from her throat. “All the dragons we’ve killed together and you are finished by a frost troll?” 

“Old age I guess.” Looking up at her shield-brother she could indeed see his age. Though the last few years before her end had been hazy it was easy to see the added silver strands gracing his brow. But despite the added age his eyes remained as clear as the skies above Whiterun. Those eyes softened as he studied her. “Rheissa…” 

Hearing her name fall from familiar lips with such sympathy brought on a fresh wave of tears. As he moved to wipe them away she shook her head firmly and slipped the mask of strength she’d so carefully crafted over the years back in place. “Was he with you?”

“No. Vilkas is in Winterhold with Lucia.”

“At the college? I can’t believe she convinced him to set foot there.”

“I’m not sure she has yet.”

“Well I’m glad he won’t be alone when… when the courier finds him.” 

Sad silence broke over them again, both imagining Vilkas receiving the news that his twin had been slain. Farkas had always relied on his brother. But Farkas was resilient in the face of death. Vilkas wore each loss as badge of sorrow, a crimson stain forever marring his heart. Rheissa said a silent prayer to Mara that their children could help him now. 

“You know he was never the same. After-”

“I know.” 

Tsun approached and stood, battle axe in hand, ready to challenge a new brother for entry into Shor’s Hall. “Welcome Farkas of the Companions. I have expected you for some time.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------

Still she waited. Still she watched, her only companion the silent Tsun and fierce longing that had rooted itself within her. On one occasion the sound of Farkas’ deep belly laugh could be heard from the hall and her yearning to join those within became a physical ache. But enter she would not, not while the other half of her heart remained elsewhere. 

Slowly she turned the ring of matrimony on her finger, examining it closely. Knicks and slashes could be seen in the soft metal where her gauntlets had failed to protect her. One particularly deep gash marked where a marauder had nearly taken off her fingers. Vilkas had raged. The memory was vague, but she seriously doubted the foolhardy brute had lived long enough to take another breath after the strike.

A bolt of anguish shot through her core at the only half recalled memory. She pressed a shaking hand to her middle in a futile attempt to ease the broken sob that unexpectedly ripped from her chest. It had been so long… Gods forgive her, she could not clearly recall what he looked like anymore. Her last days of life had been spent clinging to what little sanity remained after so many years of warring and bloodshed. That Vilkas had been forced to end it... she held no regret greater than knowing what she had asked of him. And now to be without him… What had been the purpose of putting the man through such grief if he was not with her in Sovangarde? Hope and anticipation had soured with time until only forlorn anguish remained. The sorrow that she had held at bay for so long now overcame her absolutely as she hugged her middle and sobbed.

What if something had happened? There were so many places for a soul to go after death… They both knew how incensed Hircine had been to lose his hold on the Circle. Perhaps he would send hunters to seize hold of her husband’s spirit. In truth, it could have been any daedra. She had managed to earn the ire of many over the years. What better revenge could there be than to keep the Dovahkiin’s lover from her eternity? 

Or the Soul Carin. That singular thought brought forth a horrified gasping moan from the overcome woman. The notion of Vilkas condemned to wandering that dark abysmal void until the end of time caused physical pain to seep forth from her chest while the voices of the miserable souls she’d witnessed there echoed through her mind.

_“Emptiness consumes me…”_

_“The screams…they pierce my mind. I can’t stand it!”_

_“…an eternity of torment…”_

_“I raised my sword against a necromancer, the next moment…”_

No!

The very real possibility that Vilkas had met a fate worse than death set a fire roaring in the depths of her heart. Rage and wanton fear drove the woman to her feet as she turned and marched to where Tsun stood ever vigilant. She had waited too long. She needed to see what had become of her love. She had to know, had to save him! Stopping in front of the giant she announced, “I want you to summon Shor.”

The look of shocked incredulity that stole over the guardian’s face did not look as though it belonged there. “You have spent many years outside of His hall… and now you wish Him to come to you?”

“I need to return to Nirn.”

“That is not within His power.”

“It is. Legends say he has returned many times.”

“But He cannot return another. You must be summoned to Nirn, it is the only way to depart this place. But even then I fear it would only be temporary.”

The woman’s temper flared. She felt the strength and resolve that had slain both gods and kings flow through her limbs as conviction stronger than any faith firmly took root in her heart. “If neither you nor Shor will help me I will find a way out of this place myself.” Before the giant could answer she turned and marched down the path. After so many years the woman knew each stone and tree of the vale before her and it did not take long to reach the stone ruins where the portal once rested.

She circled the area carefully, probing for any clue that might lead to how she could open a gateway of her own. She herself knew little of sorcery, but already she knew of a few in Sovangarde that might be able to help her. Though it was true that few mages dwelled within the hall, she knew Onmund had arrived some time ago. And Felldir, while not a mage himself, had knowledge of the elder scrolls. Surely such wisdom could help her now. And if not sorcery, perhaps more desperate measures could be taken. She did know that Sovangarde was only one of many magical planes. Perhaps-

“Rheissa.” The voice behind her sent a shudder of… something through her core. Without warning she could not move, could not think, could only feel an icy awareness of… what was it? What was the sensation that hardened every muscle and stopped all coherent thought? Heavy footfalls signaled a wary approach before the voice sounded again, questioning this time. “Rhei?” 

The cold feeling abruptly shifted to that of a scorching desperation that raced up her limbs. The woman turned, ready to lash out at this thing that would taunt her with her heart’s desire… only to meet silver eyes that stilled her movements once more. But the paralyzing cold had melted into a warm medley of emotion brought on by years of longing. 

“Vilkas?”

Then there was no cold, no gentle warmth, only fire. Desperation burned the both of them in an inferno of frantic contact. His lips found hers greedily; his fingers wound through her hair and held her in place as her own hands clutched at him in disbelief. Cries spilled from both unimpeded; declarations of love, thanks to the gods… and laughter. Blessed, magnificent, rapturous laughter echoed through the open space as the two lovers finally collapsed under the ethereal encumbrance of their joy. 

Their movements stilled as both Vilkas and Rheissa caught the other’s eyes and he smiled around happy tears. “I’m sorry love. I’m so sorry I’ve kept you waiting so long.” And for the first time since arriving in Sovangarde Rheissa felt the completeness of her heart as she smiled. 

“I would wait forever my love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid that's it. That's all. There's no more.
> 
> ....well, maybe. Once in awhile a plot bunny attacks but otherwise this story is finished.
> 
> Thank you so much to everybody who has read and commented! I'm so happy that folks enjoyed it. :)


End file.
